Overture to a Train Wreck
by CatBru
Summary: After finding a man trapped in time and icky goo , Logan and Rogue bring home a stray. Chaos, gambling, and mutual crushes ensue. Ensemble cast, but primarily Rogue/Gambit. T for naughty words, partial nakieness, and maybe smooches later.
1. Overture to a Train Wreck

I watched X-Men Origins again yesterday, and I got to thinking about how things could be set back on track, time line wise. While this doesn't fix everything, it does fix one thing, at least in my mind.

Since I've never written for the X-Men fandom before, I have no beta for this, so I apologize in advance for any atrocious errors on my part, whether grammatically or otherwise.

Spoilers for all four movies, basically.

Thanks to a wonderful reviewer for the point out on the repetiveness on that one part, it's been fixed now yay!

And since I forgot first time around…

Disclaimer: Maybe if I win the Tennessee Lottery, I'll possibly, maybe, be able to afford the purchase to the rights to Gambit's pinky toe. As it is, I haven't, I don't, and therefore I am a sad kitty.

* * *

It was supposed to be a quick in and out job, a recon job to gather information for the school. The compound had practically been deserted for years, the former inhabitants having been transferred onto bigger and better things.

However, on the way out, they had come across a room full of long, floor length tubes that extended from ceiling to floor, most having been damaged by lack of maintenance or concern, and it had been Rogue who had stopped, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the mummified corpses of the mutants that had been imprisoned in them.

"Logan," she rasped out in a horrified whisper. She clutched at the soft leather of his jacket, a testimony to her duress. Ever since her powers had returned, more powerful than before, she hadn't even allowed herself to touch anyone through the barriers of cloth and fabric. "We can't just… what if some of them's still alive?"

"Kid, we can't just-" Logan's declaration that they couldn't save them all died in his throat as she looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. They were the same eyes he had seen when she'd arrived on his doorstep some months ago, shaking and crying when she told him that _they_ were back, and that a woman had been killed because of them. He hadn't been able to fix that look then, but perhaps he could do something about it now. "Fine, let's see what lost strays you can bring home today, eh?"

The room was large, housing multiple rows and columns of steel and glass tombs. Each one they came across was either damaged or empty. Logan would have given up after the first few had it not been for that damn look in Rogue's eyes, a look she had always given him. It was as though he could do anything, fix anything, when he knew that he couldn't even fix a woman on a pile of burning rubble and a damaged psyche.

They were on the last row, and he dreaded having to face her eyes filled with disappointment. Not towards him, but for their failure in arriving in time to save even one.

"Logan!" She suddenly declared two tubes away. "I think this one's still alive!"

He came up beside her, and did a double take.

"I know him," he found himself murmuring softly.

There, floating in a sea of unknown fluid, looking almost peaceful were it not for the eyes, was the same face of a man that was… familiar. The first face he clearly remembered, and who had remembered him, claiming they were friends, knowing his name. He had wondered, had they really been friends, why he had never seen the boy after that. Now, looking at his still-young face, he could see why.

There was no way that the boy in there was much older than the one he had met on the ruins of an island.

"You know him? Who is he?" Rogue traced her covered fingers over the glass, a small smile forming at the thought that they could actually save one of them.

"Don't know, he never reintroduced himself." At her questioning look, he shrugged. "He's the first guy I remember."

He didn't elaborate, but then he really didn't need to. Rogue nodded slowly, understanding. "How do you suppose we get him out of there?"

"Well, it's not exactly like they left a user's guide lying around," he commented wryly.

"Logan, this was a military installation," she commented, reaching to the other side of the tube with a smirk. She pulled out an old battered book hanging by a chain. "Of course they would have them."

"Gimme that, Smarty Pants," he demanded, moving around her to snatch the battered book out of her hands. He flipped through it, figuring it could be written in ancient Tibetan for all the good it did him.

After a good while of flipping through, and, dare he admit it, looking in both the index _and_ the table of contents, he began to flip some dials and turn some levers. Of all the convoluted ways to tell someone how to turn on or off a machine, the military had that down to an art form.

"Apparently, we have to wait now for the indicator light to turn from red to green, and for the pressure valvle to point to low, and then we wait for the goo to drain, and then we can take him out."

"Goo? Does it really say _goo?"_ she asked incredulously.

"The book's old, Marie. The word's twenty-seven letters long and smudged."

She glowered at him for a second, and had he been a normal man, he would have cowered. She had insisted that no one call her by her name anymore, ever since the cure had worn off and Dr. McCoy had said that if she had taken it again, her body would simply reject it, having built immunity to the cure. However, Logan refused to fully grant her this one request. Even though she was a good five years older than when they had first met, and perhaps fifteen years more mature due to the circumstances of their lives, he couldn't help but still see that little imp stowing away in the trailer of his old truck.

"There's one thing I don't get," he said instead, thinking hard back to when he first woke up with no memory. "I could have sworn his eyes were brown. Or was it green?"

"Well, maybe the irises just got a bit… bloodshot after being in there for so long?"

"No, I mean they were _normal._ He didn't look like some punk kid with funky contacts that would turn his sclera black." At her amused expression, he sighed. "I _do _know what a sclera is."

"Okay, that aside, did his eyes ever… glow?" she asked suddenly, taking a step closer to the tube, peering closely at the young man suspended.

Something prickled at the back of his mind. "Glow? What do you mean?"

"Well, his eyes. It's like they're starting to glow."

Logan took a step closer, squinting to both see and remember what it was he was trying to remember. A deck of cards, irises glowing red, fifty-two scraps of plastic paper sending him through the wall in a glow of magenta…

"Shit."

He grabbed Marie and pulled her back several yards, hiding them both behind one of the already damaged tubes, wrapping his arms around his young charge with his back toward the blast he knew was coming.

"Logan, what are you doing?" Marie asked in a near panic at being so close to someone.

"You'll see soon enough, kid," he said simply.

Sure enough, no sooner had he finished his sentence did an explosion sound behind them, sending shrapnel and twenty-seven lettered goo spraying around them. Logan grunted as he felt a piece of metal sink deeply into his back.

"What on earth was _that_?!" Rogue demanded as soon as the goo and dust settled.

Logan let her up, reaching behind him to yank out the piece of detritus protruding two inches from his spine. Damn, that hurt like hell.

"That kid's a regular firecracker," was all he muttered before standing up, tossing the bloodied scrap to the side. He felt as muscles and tendons wove around knitting bone as skin reconnected. Not even a scar to be seen.

Rogue had gotten to the man first, concerned that he had injured himself in the explosion. "You okay there, Sugar?" she asked soothingly, brushing away damp strands of hair away from the groggy mutant's forehead.

_Sugar?_ Logan snorted as he came closer to the pair. The familiar boy was huddled, naked, shivering as his eyes darted around the room swiftly.

The boy shook his head harshly, as though to clear it, before turning to the sound of Rogue's voice. He blinked a few times before a lazy smile spread over his chattering teeth.

"Well, ain't you just the prettiest femme I've seen in a while?"

Rogue snorted. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm the _only_ 'femme' you've seen in awhile?"

The boy didn't answer. Instead, he seemed to concentrate more on getting his breathe under control and his eyes to focus as he brought a hand questioningly toward the white stripe falling over Rogue's face.

For a moment, it looked to Logan as though Marie would actually let the young man touch her hair. Then she jolted backward, her eyes blinking, leaping to her feet and out of the guy's reach. "Um, I should, well, I saw some old clothes back that way… I'll just go… I'll be right back."

It was then that the young mutant seemed to realize he was completely unclothed. Glancing down for a second, he looked back up to Rogue's retreating form with a wicked. "Don' be too judgmental, chére! It was freezing in there, you know!"

Logan choked as Rogue paused and turned back toward the young man, squawking indignantly. "Don't blame the temperature for your short-comings, Sugar!" With that, she rushed back to where she'd been heading before.

"Can't tell you the last time I saw Rogue blush like that," Logan mused quietly.

"Rogue? That her name?"

Logan did not like the look that the young man was casting over where Marie had just left. "Yes, and I'd really hate to have to kill you as soon as I save your sorry ass, so don't even think about it, Bub."

"I wasn't thinkin' nothing of the sort," he said, hands held up in mock surrender. He then studied Logan for a minute. "Lookin' a lot better than when I left you on the isle."

Logan blinked. Until then, he hadn't been sure he had been only imagining that he knew who this young mutant was. "A little, I guess. Still don't quite know who _you_ are, though."

"I'm hurt that you wouldn't remember Remy LeBeau," he said as he leapt to his feet, with a grace that should have been impossible for someone who'd been immobile for who knows how many years. "I was sure that my charm would surpass any memory loss."

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling I knew you were a pain in the ass before."

Remy scoffed. "I bet you just don't wanna remember that I saved _your_ ass before."

"Sure, Bub, whatever you say." Logan eyed the younger man for a moment. "So how did you get to be here? You don't seem like the type who would willingly volunteer for something like this."

Remy's almost cheerful expression darkened slightly. "I was dealt a bad hand and lost the game. How long's it been?"

"About twenty years since the island."

LeBeau's face paled slightly, but before he could say anything his attention was caught on Rogue, who was returning at a slower pace than when she left.

"Technically, she's probably old enough to be your daughter. Don't think about it." He wasn't sure why he was worrying himself so much over this, but he had the strangest feeling that he was watching a train wreck slowly unfolding before him. "And it wouldn't do you any good to try anything."

"Well, physically I ain't, so no worries there," he murmured softly. "Back so soon, chére? Miss me that much?"

He was answered by a face full of assorted fabrics. "Cover yourself already, and let's get out of here." She came up to stand next to Logan, arms folded over her chest as she looked anywhere but the changing man. "I contacted Storm, told her we'll be bringing back company."

"So sure I would follow you anywhere, huh?" Remy smirked. "You're too sure of your power over me."

"What I'm sure about is that you're a few years out of your league here, Hon, and you'll be needing all the help you can get."

Remy slipped his arms through the sleeves of an old battered trench coat. He muttered darkly as he laced up the boots that were probably a few sizes too large. "How much could things have changed over the past twenty years, anyway?"

"You're right. You'll be perfectly fine on your own, I'm sure." Rogue spun on her heels and started to walk away.

"Aw, c'mon, chére, don't be like that. All you had to do was ask!" Remy nearly tripped as he stumbled behind her while trying to tie the last knot in his boots, and soon he was walking a few inches beside Rogue.

"Fine. Please, oh please, come with us. I don't think I could bear it if you didn't." Her monotonous and dry plea was followed by an eye roll.

"There, wasn't so hard now, was it?"

"Like pulling teeth. So why are your eyes like that now? Logan said they were brown before." She muttered softly to herself then, loud enough for Logan to hear, but if Remy heard, he'd make no indication. "Course it would make sense if he got confused, you're so full of shit already…"

"Something about my mutation changing slightly, nothing important," he said with a wave of his hand, brushing off her question as he deftly changed the subject. "What's with the white?"

"Something about electrocution, nothing important," she quipped back.

Logan sighed and shook his head, wondering how long it would take for this collision to occur, how big the explosion would be, and how many casualties they would take. He started to follow as Remy began asking her the questions, mostly about what he'd missed the past few years, and he wondered how long it would be before she either punched him or kissed him just to put him out of her misery.

He couldn't help but remember that blush, though. He hadn't seen her turn that red since she introduced him to Bobby, a relationship that hadn't lasted long even after she'd taken the cure. He hadn't seen it then, but now he knew the signs to look for, the beginnings of derailment or the inevitable head on collision.

"What the heck is a CD?" Remy's dumbfounded question followed by Rogue's laughter caused Logan to sigh again.

Yep, this was going to be one hell of a train wreck.

-end

* * *

_So what happens after this, you ask? Not a clue. This was just a one piece vignette that popped into my head yesterday and just would not leave me alone until I wrote it. All I can assume is that there will be a train wreck... (And yes, I shamelessly adore this pairing, and have ever since I barely got into X-Men with the original 90's animated series.)_


	2. Clean Up on Aisle M

Oh dear… oh my! I really did not expect my little plot bunny to be so well received. And the requests for me to continue? ACK! I _really_ hope y'all don't expect much in the way of a plot. Because, you see, Plot is actually my arch nemesis. It all goes back to when I was ten or eleven, attempting to write original stories, and… well, to make a long, boring story short, it ended in my giving up as the story went from being 'creepy' to being 'cheerful.' Darn you, Plot. Darn you to Hades!

I'm not really sure about this part… meeeeh. This is what happens when I write with little or no direction. Bah. Humbug.

If this _does_ continue on to be some long story (possibly with that evil dreaded plot thing…) nothing major will happen for a few parts yet. Mostly because I have no clue where to go. So, for now, I'll try to write about how unsettling it would be for a man from the eighties to be plopped into the… er… would this be the zeros?

Well, I'll hush up now and let y'all read. Not sure this really follows in character, but according to my calculations, we only had about eight minutes of actual Gambit Time in the movie, and I haven't really read a comic in ages, even though I _am_ trying to pick the habit back up. Please let me know how horribly I butcher him or any other character? (Although, I already know about the lack of accents. ;) I have a horrible case of 'Living in Tennessee with a Made-For-Radio Midwestern accent,' so I really know nothing about them, let alone how to _write_ them…)

Thanks again to my reviewers! And hey, when did get the nifty little reply thingy? I should probably start using that…

(Oh, and once again, unbeta'd, and apologies for any grammatical, or otherwise, mistakes made that would make you want to gouge my eyes out with a toothpick. And I really am hushing up now… promise. For seriously.)

**Chapter Two**

-

The mansion, while giving off that homey vibe that made his skin crawl, was a thief's playground waiting to be tested. So many nooks and crannies for him to explore, to see how much stealth it would require traversing. He wondered if he could make it from the top floor of one side to the lower floor on the other without being caught.

A low buzzer sounded through the halls, causing his step to pause mid stride for a second before he continued on behind his rescuers. He didn't have time to wonder what it was for, because a moment later doors were opening and teenagers began to dart around them, each heading off to their different destinations.

Of course, even in a school for mutants, a man walking around in clothes that smelled like they belonged in someone's attic covered in slime was going to attract attention. He got everything from curious glances to blatant staring. One little girl, probably about eight, stared up at him from her space in the hallway, merely curious. Remy glanced down at her and winked, and she gave him a cute smile in return, even with the jagged teeth.

"Some place you got here," he commented as he continued to follow his two rescuers.

"Yeah. Pretty safe, too, for the most part." His cute rescuer turned and gave him a brief, curt smile before facing forward again.

Looked like she was still mad.

On the jet ride home, she had made the threat that he would wake up in the med lab with one hell of a headache, and she would have enough blackmail material on him to make her a very well off woman for the rest of her days if he so much as breathed wrong. He supposed he deserved it, it was his own fault for pressing all the wrong buttons on purpose after he'd run out of questions. But then, it _wasn't_ his fault that she was just too fun to tease, too fascinating to watch when she got angry or annoyed.

One look at Logan's pleasantly surprised and disturbingly proud expression, Remy had no doubt that the little spitfire would make good on her threat.

Logan had spent the better part of the flight casting him unsettling looks. He wasn't sure if the older man wanted to ask him questions or cold cock him again. Probably both.

Fortunately, he'd found a deck of cards in one of the compartments to help occupy the rest of his time. Unfortunately, it had been missing the two of clubs, seven of spades, ace of diamonds, and, to his utter and complete horror, the queen of hearts. It had made for a rather interesting game of solitaire until he'd finally just given up and moved on to see if his hands still held the muscle memory for some of his more complex tricks. He was pleased to discover that, for the most part, he still had it.

He wasn't so sure about his other abilities, though. He knew they were still there – the destroyed pod was proof of that – but before he'd been taken, they had kind of developed slightly beyond his control. What should have been small little explosions had turned into a smoldering apartment. He hadn't even been aware that he had been charging the metal tube around him only a few hours ago until he'd collapsed on the floor surrounded by metal scrap and gelatinous liquid. All he'd been aware of once reaching consciousness was a pretty face floating just beyond his reach.

Then he'd been as he'd always imagined he'd been the day he was born; naked, wet, and flirting with the first pretty girl he saw.

Of course, he doubted he'd followed that first girl home when he barely knew her and trusted her less, but then he'd always had a weakness for sassy southern belles intent on putting him in his place. Especially when they looked good in tight black leather.

And from his vantage point, she looked really _great_ in tight black leather.

"Hey, Bub, eyes front." The dangerous growl came from the right and a couple feet up from where his eyes had been.

After a few beats, Remy slowly dragged his eyes up to Logan's. He smirked as he spoke in a lazy drawl. "You want somethin'?"

"Yeah, we're here," the gruff Canadian jerked his thumb toward the headmistress' office door.

Ororo Munroe, codenamed Storm as he had been told on the jet, smiled warmly as they walked in. From the brief description he'd gotten from his companions, before he'd pissed them off, he'd expected someone… taller. Maybe someone with an air of regality about her.

"We got the intel you wanted," Logan said without preamble, tossing a small stick (a memory stick, Rogue had told him) onto the desk. "It was easier to get than we thought. A bit too easy, if you ask me."

"Well, let's deal with that later. Right now, let's concentrate on our new friend here." The woman's dark eyes, while still holding their welcoming warmth, also regarded him with caution. She motioned for the chair in front of the desk, indicating that he could take a seat, which he did. "How is it you came to be… with us?"

Remy thought carefully for a moment, not really trusting his rescuers. This was through no fault of theirs, at least as far as he could tell so far, he'd just learned early on to hold his hand close to his chest and give nothing away. "Would you believe I made a pass at a General's daughter?"

"I would," Logan grumbled as Rogue snorted softly.

Ororo gave him a small, bemused smile, before shaking her head slightly. "Okay, then… I'm sure we could contact any relatives to let them know-"

"No!" His sharp reply even took him by surprise, but there was no way he wanted to talk to them now. "I mean, give me some time, yeah? Time to readjust. They'd just complicate things."

"That is understandable," Ororo conceded.

"Hey Darlin', me and the kid are gonna go get the meeting set up. You okay here with him?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him with a smile. "I'll call one of the students to show our friend to his room."

Remy shifted in his seat at that. Room? Sounded as though they intended for him to stay long term.

"Alright. Come on, Kid. Let's go." Logan left without checking to see if Rogue followed.

The young girl paused for a second before leaving, looking at Remy in concern. She was like a mother hen, not wanting to leave her new charge alone. He nodded slightly, grinning to let her know he'd be just fine.

Shortly after they left, and while Ororo was on the phone to find him a chaperone, Remy was starting to feel out of place for the first time since he woke up. He wanted to blame it on the girl, a strange case of Stockholm's Syndrome where, instead of getting attached to his captor, it was his rescuer.

"Remy Etienne LeBeau, right? Six feet, weighing one-eightyish, brown eyes and hair?"

He blinked as she read his stats, or at least how they read on official documents. Unfortunately, the color 'red' wasn't on any official form for eye color. "That's right, Stormy."

"Here," she tossed something at him, a little forcefully as her eyes hardened at the unwelcome nickname.

He caught it, staring at his wallet in confusion. The last time he had seen it had been shortly before he'd been captured, where he'd left it with a young white-haired waif of a girl he'd caught trying to pickpocket a thief, asking her to watch his stuff for him (more to keep her safe and out of harm's way than anything else) while he investigated a noise. Something that, according to all the scary movies and the subsequent events, one really should _not_ do. "How'd you get this?"

She just smirked at him for a moment. "I owe you seventy-eight dollars, by the way."

Remy shook his head as he flipped through the ancient piece of leather. For him, it had been almost new, having gotten it only a month or so before. Now, it was weathered and worn, falling apart from old age. His license, he was amused to find, had expired twelve years ago.

"Mike should be here in a few seconds, and he'll be able to show you to the room you can use while you decide what you want to do."

He looked up at her, tilting his head slightly in question.

"If you want to stay here, that would be fine. We could use the help, as we're a bit understaffed at the moment…" she sighed softly, losing herself for a moment before shaking off the gloom that had momentarily settled over her. "However, you are by no means obligated to stay here."

"I appreciate it, Stormy," he said as there was a knock at the door before a teenage boy entered.

"Mike, show our guest to the visitors' rooms, would you?" She turned back to Remy. "There are bathrooms in each of the rooms, so feel free to take advantage of it. I'll also have someone bring you some… fresher clothing."

"Why Stormy, are you implying I stink?" he pouted, bringing a hand to his chest, feigning to be hurt by her insinuations.

"I'm not implying anything, I'm outright telling you. You reek."

He shifted in his seat at the thought of a shower. He had to admit, he wondered how his travel companions had been able to sit with him for so long in a rather small space. Apparently, the goo he'd been in did not dry smelling like sunshine and daisies. That and he had dry sticky goo where dry sticky goo had absolutely no business in being.

"Alright, Stormy, but only because you asked so nicely." He got up and followed the younger boy out of the office.

Before he reached the door, Storm called out. "And Remy?"

"Yes, Stormy?"

"_Stop_ calling me that."

"Yes, Stormy."

-

The shower had been glorious. Apparently, the mansion had an amazing water heating system, because, as hard as he tried to outlast the hot water, he wound up admitting defeat as his hands became pruney and his skin turned a pale shade of red. He also saw, when he came out, that someone had come in and set a fresh change of clothes on his bed. He tossed everything that he had been wearing into the trash by the night stand, except for the coat. It was nice, had many pockets, and would clean up fairly well. Or at least, he hoped it would.

Now, about two hours after leaving Storm's office, he found himself sitting next to a young brunette at a desk with a computer. At first, he'd laughed when he was told that that was what the slim machine was called. He was used to large bulky machines, not these streamlined pieces of plastic and metal.

That was before the girl had turned it on.

To his dismay, it turned out that Rogue was still debriefing, and wouldn't be done for some time yet. So, Ororo had suggested that he become acquainted with some of today's modern technologies.

Which brought him to where he was now.

"…And then, you just click on the web browser icon and you'll be connected to the internet. We have a fast cable connection here, so fortunately you won't have to deal with the hassles of signing in, and-"

Remy blinked a couple of times as the young woman beside him kept rambling on. Finally, he held up a hand, cutting her off. "Pretend I've been in stasis since the mid eighties, and have no _clue_ what you're talkin' about."

The young Miss Kitty Pryde, rumored resident computer whiz of the school, blushed and gave a sheepish smile when she realized her mistake.

"Sorry… Well, okay then, let's see," she pursed her lips and hummed as she thought, clearly trying to find the best way to go about this. "Okay, so the basics. This is your power button…"

_Mon Dieu, gonna be here forever,_ Remy thought with a sigh as she went over the basics that even he knew from the bulky machinery of his own time.

As she explained the differences between bits and bytes, he picked up an interesting new addition to computers. A strange little device with buttons and a scroll wheel.

Several hours and one splitting headache later, Remy was ready to continue living 'in the stone ages,' as Kitty had put it, and give up on computers all together, when Rogue finally returned.

"There you are!" He was out of his seat and by her side so fast that it spun a few times. "That was one long meetin', Chére."

"They usually are," she admitted, looking amused at his eagerness. "Been enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely. Let's go."

She laughed. "Alright. Bye, Kitty." He wondered at her slightly distant tone with the young computer girl, but found no trace of malice in her expression.

"Bye, Rogue," Kitty said almost timidly. Then, much more cheerful, she waved at him. "Nice meeting you, Remy."

"Likewise," he said with a small nod.

He walked by her side down the main hallway, trying to shake off the headache. Kitty was a nice enough girl, but she had spoken circles around him, causing his head to spin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rogue looking at him. "You clean up nice."

Her approval would have made him blush had he been several years younger. "You seem surprised. Figured I always looked like the creature from the black lagoon?"

"No, more like the swamp thing."

He snorted, and would have happily continued their banter had they not passed an open door way. Inside, he saw something that made his heart sing at its beauty.

"What… is that?" he reverently asked as he stepped toward the widest and flattest television screen he had ever seen.

"That would be a television," Rogue stated, clearly amused.

Remy rolled his eyes. "I know_ that._ I mean, just look at it! The detail, the quality. The realism! _Star Wars_ didn't even look this good!" His fingers hovered millimeters from the surface, tracing over the green skin of the lizard on the screen. "Is the most beautiful thing I've seen since I woke up…" He glanced at his companion when he heard her snort, trying to hold back a laugh, before he amended his statement. "Fine, it's the second. But it's really close, Chére."

"Wait, what was the first?"

Remy fully looked at her then, surprised at the genuine confusion he saw there. He'd expected her to be playing coy at first, but now, he realized that she was actually clueless. For a second he thought of telling her the truth, then sighed as he pulled out the full deck of cards he had swiped from the rec room. "This, of course. Can't go around without _her_, now, can I? Just ain't right."

Rogue looked at the queen of hearts he'd flipped out from the middle of the deck. "Ah, I remember. You were antsy because you couldn't play solitaire on the jet."

"Okay, don't make me ice you two away from the TV, the show's about to come back on," a voice said from the couch. "And, New Guy, _why_ are you staring at the Geico gecko like it's the Holy Grail?"

For the first time, Remy noticed the young man lounging on the over stuffed couch. He was your typical All American boy; good looks, straight teeth, flying on the straight and narrow. He decided he didn't much care for him.

"Bobby," Rogue said with a sigh, apparently as surprised to see the boy as he was. "This is Remy. Logan and I found him while on the mission."

"Hey," Bobby said with passing interest before turning back to Rogue. "How'd it go?"

"Pretty well, Hank's still looking over the data." A loud explosion sounded behind them, coming from the television. "Well, look at that. We'll leave you to your show."

She grabbed his sleeve and maneuvered them out of the room. Remy could feel Bobby's icy glare as they left, and when they reached the door way he flashed the boy a sly grin, happy to know that his disdain for him was apparently not one sided.

"So, who was he?" he asked as they continued on.

"A friend," she said simply. "So, I take it you have a room, now. You decided on whether or not you'll stay?"

Remy thought for a second. Ordinarily, he would have declined out right, but something was telling him to give the place a try, even if his instincts were telling him to run.

"Dunno yet, Chére. Let's see how things go first, yeah?" He grinned then, noticing that she was still holding on to his sleeve. "Could be you want me to stay."

She sighed as they entered the kitchen, and the smell of food flooded through his nose in a wave of euphoria.

"Dunno yet, Swamp Rat. Let's see how things go first." Grabbing two apples from a bowl of fruit, she tossed him one as she began to prepare a lunch for two while he bit into the crisp fruit with relish. He tried to help, but she shooed him to the table.

As they ate, he noticed that she looked rather depressed. Could be because of that boy in the room with the beautiful television (another reason to dislike him), or another reason entirely. She was probably in need of a distraction, some time away from whatever it was that was eating at her mind.

Studying her for a moment, he thought about his lack of funds at the moment, and wondered if there wasn't a way to kill two birds with one stone, as the old idiom went.

"Ever been to Atlantic City?"

-

_Er… hadda end somewhere, yeah? And this is great, because aside from knowing that it's in Jersey and has casinos, I know _nothing_ about Atlantic City. Woe! Does this mean I actually have to research? Blech._

_Okay, so the part about the General's daughter… I was at work the other night and tried to brainstorm a list of reason for why Remy would be captured. I started out trying to be all serious, but I work the midnight shift and I was kind of loopy from lack of sleep, so it degenerated to silly and obscure. For giggles, I may use a few of them in later chapters as his excuses. At least until I come up with a viable reason._

…_Did I mention I don't do Plot? *shifty eyes*_


	3. Reflections

Ack. I know, I suck. But, to be fair, most of this has been written in my notebook for a few weeks. I just couldn't figure a way to wrap this chapter up until earlier today. Sadly, the trip to Atlantic City has been delayed, but we do have some nice introspective POV bits from various characters! Woot woot, right?

Also, someone pointed out to me that CDs were actually around before Remy was frozen. Let me tell you, I flailed a bit, and thought hard, and suddenly at work one night it hit me. Really, glad there was no one else in the store. There was much in the ways of insane cackles and happy prancing.

Okay, I should really let yall read this before I decide against it. Not because I don't want people to read what I write, I'm just a nincompoop who flails and frets with insecurity XD

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"So, what do you think of him?" Logan asked Ororo as he lounged in the same chair Remy had occupied a few hours before him.

"I think that there are worse people you could have brought back," she said simply as she signed a piece of paper from a stack of requests.

Logan slouched further down in his chair, resting a foot against the edge of the oak desk. He longed for the butt of a cigar, if only to chew on, but the young weather goddess had banned them from her office. Something about the smell affecting her plants' happiness. "There's just something about that kid that irritates me."

At this, she glanced up from another form, concerned. "You don't think we can trust him?" Noticing the position of his foot, and the havoc it would invariably cause to the pristine finish, she reached over and flicked the sole of his boot with her pen.

"It ain't that," he groused, bringing his foot down. "I know I trusted him enough to fight with him. He even implied that he saved my life once. It's just that…" he trailed off, not sure exactly how to voice just how much he wanted to beat the brat to a bloody pulp, or why.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Rogue, now, would it?"

"She's still just a kid! You saw the way he kept eyeing her."

"I will admit that he wasn't exactly discrete about his appreciation. However, as much as you wish it, she is _not_ the young girl you met in Canada anymore." Finally, she sighed, and pushed her looming stack of paperwork aside to give Logan her full attention. "I don't remember you being this way when she and Bobby were together."

"We all know how _that_ turned out," he muttered quietly, unfairly, to himself. Obviously, not quietly enough.

"As I recall," Ororo pointed out tersely, "Their relationship came to a mutual end."

"Well, there's also the fact that he's old enough to be her father." Logan knew, even before she started to laughing, just how absurd the statement was.

"And according to the records you found in Stryker's database, _you're_ a _lot_ older than that. Does that stop you from pursuing women young enough to be your-great granddaughter's great-granddaughter?" She sighed again. "And besides, even if he _hadn't _been effectually frozen in time, and therefore technically _not_ old enough to be her father, Rogue is legally a consenting adult. As troublesome as I would find that relationship to be, unless he was an instructor, there would be nothing you or I could legally do about it."

That scenario, while impossible, still made his claws itch with the raw desire to impale someone. "I could always-"

"I said _legally,_ Logan," she cut him off, effectively halting his deliciously violent daydream. One that involved pain, screaming, and perhaps salty wounds of a certain young man. "Besides, we both seem to be leaping ahead here. There is no indication that she will return his apparent affections."

Logan thought about that for a moment before shaking his head. Ororo hadn't been there. Where as normally she would have shied away from any hint of attraction a boy would show her, Marie had not only stood her ground, but actually flirted back. Granted, not in the way most girls her age would have, but that's exactly what she had done. "She called him _'Sugar,'"_

"A declaration of love if I ever heard one," Storm commented dryly before finally turning back to her paperwork. "If you're so worried about Mr. LeBeau's apparently questionable character, you could keep an eye on him when you take him to get his identity up to date."

"What? I didn't agree to that!"

"Who better than you? Besides, you yourself recently mentioned needing to get yours updated as well. Something about looking to good for someone who is supposed to be… fifty-two, was it?"

"Forty-seven," he grumbled. "Fine, I'll take him. But don't blame me if he comes back in more pieces than when he left."

"Logan!" she admonished.

"What? Marie's not the only reason he grates me. The kid's a punk." A phantom memory, one he wasn't sure was real or not, flashed before his mind of Remy using a bo staff to helicopter himself down from a roof. "A punk _and_ a show-off."

A moment later, he mumbled softly, not really sure if she heard him, or if he wanted her to. "It's a damn train wreck."

-

Kitty sighed, dejectedly, in front of her computer screen. Her impromptu class with the new guy had not gone very well. It was hard to figure out exactly where to start teaching a person who had been out of the technological loop for more than twenty years.

Which, in computer years, was closer to a millennia. Prehistoric, even. From a time when cavemen computers battled dinosaur calculators and ate rocks. There was just too much to teach in a short period of time. Even the most computer illiterate person had some idea of what a mouse was, but he had been more enthralled by the simple device than any of her lessons.

And then, to her horror, he didn't even know what a CD was. When she'd pointed out that they had been around before he was frozen, he'd actually laughed and said that the guards hadn't been very forthcoming on technical advances on the outside world, and were far more interested in trying to win back their knick knacks. And then there hadn't been very much time between his escape, his attempts at reclaiming some joys in life, and subsequent recapture to be reading up on what the latest over priced technology was.

It didn't help her mood any that the new guy was… well… hot. Or, as Jubilee had said, "Not just hot, but h-a-w-t _hawt._" Not that Kitty was looking at him beyond the simple act of admiring an attractive outcome of a member of the male species. Not only was she away that he seemed to hole the beginnings of a lit torch for a resident white-streaked girl (with whom she was still attempting to build more of a relationship with after what she now dubbed as the Flirtation Disaster of '06) but she had more than an eye on a certain Russian artist.

Sighing again, leaning her head heavily against a propped arm, she clicked the okay button to proceed with the defragging of her hard drive. She'd already done so earlier in the week, but she'd downloaded several gigs of information since then, more than usual. Better to be safe than sorry, and she preferred her baby to run as swiftly and smoothly as possible.

Perhaps she should just lend him her older computer, throw him headfirst into the technology pool and let him learn how to wade on his own before showing him the intricate nuances. It was how she had learned, although she had been much younger at the time. Of course, until he was more comfortable, and familiar with the do's and don'ts of the vast universe of binary, keeping him offline would be preferable, and restricting any damage to just the one computer. Besides, what was the worst that could happen that way? Even as computer illiterate as he currently was, it wasn't as though he could blow it up.

The idea to cheered her up considerably as she straightened in her seat and turned from her defragging desktop to her purring laptop. She figured she could at least do some preliminary research on the installation where Wolverine and Rogue had gone, figuring she may find some more history on the place that they had missed the first time around. Pretty much all she knew was it had once been a facility used during the Manhattan Project in eastern Tennessee, then bought by another company in the early seventies.

Typing in Oak Ridge into the search engine, she sat back and clicked the links, following the path that the World Wide Web set her on.

-

There was only one thing Bobby hated more than being a jealous boyfriend, and that was being a jealous _ex-_boyfriend. Not that he _was_ jealous. Of course not. So what if Marie had brought home a new guy who was – according to what he'd over-heard some of the girls say, because no way would _he_ notice these things about a member of the same gender – some pretty hot stuff? So what if the two had been unaware of his presence until he had said something? And so _what_ if he had caught Marie practically _gazing_ at the new guy with an almost sickening expression of over-protectiveness and affection? Those were clearly _not_ enough to make him jealous. No siree, not him, he was the cool ex who was happy as long as she was.

The fact that he currently wished he were old enough to drink, or brave enough not to care about the consequences if caught, had nothing to do with what had transpired in the rec room.

Actually, the urge had come before he had even found himself in front of the TV, albeit slightly less so. It had come shortly after mail call. For the first time since coming out to his parents as a mutant, he received a letter from his mother.

The innocuous envelope had rested in his pocket, unopened, as he had surfed through an endless stream of channels, pausing only when something looked halfway decent. He had done that well after Rogue's departure, leading the new guy around like a lost puppy looking for a scratch behind the ear. Now all that was on the television was some annoying dramas and shows that had been on when his parents were young, and he couldn't put off reading the thing any longer.

So, here he as, in his room, staring at the envelope while thinking of reasons why he was or wasn't the jealous ex. Procrastination? Definitely. His and Marie's relationship, while having ended in a rather mutual, and, for people their age, quite maturely, was something he could honestly say he wasn't one-hundred percent over. Whether or not their relationship had been based more on puppy love than anything else, Marie had been the first girl he'd felt more than a physical attraction toward. Even when he'd had his eye on Kitty, a time that he couldn't blame on anything besides his own young male stupidity. He couldn't, nor wouldn't, demy the fact that that incident had played a part in their break up some months later, but it also been the only, or deciding, factor. And contrary to the numerous rumors flying around, it had nothing to do with Marie's mutation. As he had pointed out several times what the subject invariably came up, she had still been under the effects of the all-too brief 'cure' at the time.

Of course, the other rumor proved even more absurd. She had not dripped him like yesterday's news to pursue her newfound ability to touch in as many different people as she could. As far as he knew – though admittedly, he wouldn't want to know otherwise – he had been the only person she'd been with. (Of course, this declaration caused catcalls, resulting in a deep blush to blossom over his face as he yelled 'in a relationship, you perverts! Not… anything else!') Bobby had even continued to be friends with Marie afterward, and they had both been pleasantly surprised at how easily the transition from 'an item' to 'friends' had actually been.

And then her powers came back, with no warning, violently and more powerful than before. He had been terrified, mostly for her, but also _of_ her. Every time he thought of the woman in the coma, a casualty of Rogue's powerful return and vicious lack of control, he couldn't help that nasty voice at the back of his mind that whispered 'thank God it wasn't me.'

Afterward, Marie had become even more withdrawn than she had been when she'd first arrived at the institute. She threatened bodily harm to anyone who even caked her by her given name, burying herself so deeply inside her Rogue persona that he'd begun to worry she'd never find her way back.

And then this… _interloper_ arrives, and not only does Bobby get to see a glimpse of the girl he fell in love with, she actually _chose_ to stand closer to this new guy, this _Remy LeBeau_, than she's allowed anyone for far too long. So yeah, Bobby was jealous. Not because of the _possibility_ he saw between them, but because _Bobby_ hadn't been the one that made Marie comfortable enough to finally allow herself to drop the Rogue persona, even a little. Jealousy for that, he could admit to.

Just as he could admit to being scared shitless of reading what his mother wrote. He'd started to imagine the worse, just so that whatever he did find inside couldn't tear him apart quite as much as if he'd expected the best and not get it.

The envelope seemed a bit too thick for a brief letter full of hate. So far, the worse he could imagine was something along the lines of: _'Dear thing I somehow managed to allow to crawl out of my womb, fuck off and die.'_ And since there seemed to be more to it than that, that had to be a good thing, right? Of course, the rest could be a bill for the first sixteen years of his life…

"Oh, hell with it," he grumbled with far more bravado than he felt and tore the envelope open, unfolded the letter, and then stared at the opening.

The thing about expecting the worst is, when you don't get it, you're left not knowing what to think. For some reason, 'Dear Bobby' had not even crossed his mind, and the unexpected and all too familiar motherly love sent his already reeling emotions into a complete one-eighty tailspin, the fallout leaving the pages quaking between his trembling fingers.

The first couple paragraphs were to catch him up on the everyday goings on in a strive for normalcy; his father's promotion at work, his brother's continual decline in grades and disposition, and even her own work at the PTA. Then she got to why she'd really written. Apparently, his brother had yelled during a bout of teenage rebellion that maybe he should be a mutant as well, and then they could pretend as though he didn't exist, as well. And if her precious baby boy believed that that was how she felt, how must her oldest precious baby boy feel?

'Robert,' she finally wrote, emphasizing his full name to get her point across, much as she had done when he was a young boy. 'You are my son, and I love you.'

It was her postscript that really caused his throat to tighten with homesickness. 'Are you getting enough to eat? You seemed a bit thin last time you were home.'

Carefully, he folded the letter and placed it on his night stand, right beside the framed photo of a family he could never bring himself to hate and a girl he could never seem to forget. He pulled out his cell phone, staring at the screen for a moment, thinking about the time only briefly before pressing send. After a few rings, a voice answered, thick with sleep and heartbreakingly familiar.

"Hey Mom, it's me."

-

Ororo sighed as she finally – _finally!_ – finished with all the work that had somehow managed to pile up over the past several days. It was times like these that she found a renewed appreciation for Professor Xavier, who had not only found time to keep the affairs of both the school and the X-Men together, but also several side projects going while still maintaining some semblance of a personal life. For her, even with Logan organizing most of the missions - when he was actually on school grounds and not out finding himself in the Canadian Rockies, that is – she still found it difficult to leave the office before midnight some nights, only to have to restart the day again before dawn.

Even though she had to be up in a few short hours, she was still too wound up to go to sleep, having spent far too long immobile behind a desk. The only known cure for this was to tend to her poor neglected plants in the green house, to unwind in the clean fresh scent of tings growing from the ground. She wouldn't have time to be as thorough as she wished, but even a few precious minutes would undoubtedly soothe her racing mind.

She realized she wasn't alone a few minutes later as she was trimming browning leaves. "You know, only thieves are out this late."

"I guess that makes both of us thieved then, Stormy."

Ororo sighed again, this time out of annoyance rather than relief. "Reformed thief. And I've asked you not to call me that, Remy."

"Yes, Stormy."

Shaking her head at his stubborn determination to annoy her to an early grave, she checked the temperamental plant over once more before turning to the dark corner he had hid himself. "What are you doing up, still? You've had quite a long day."

With a silent grace she had almost forgotten he processed, he moved from the shadows and into the light with a cocky grin that she _hadn't_ forgotten. "Figure I've slept enough for awhile. Besides, you know I work best at night."

"I do," she said with a fond smile. "I wasn't sure you remembered me."

"Remember? Yes. Recognize?" he tilted his head to the side as he appraised her for a moment. "Got to admit, that took awhile. You're hardly the diminutive waif I remember."

"Diminutive?" She laughed at that.

"You were what, ten?"

"Eleven," she responded indignantly.

"You looked like you were six," he pointed out.

"I was small for my age," she defended herself.

"You're _still_ small for age, but you don't look six anymore." Ororo was about to through her pruning sheers at his thick skull before he spoke again. "Really, you look good now. I'm happy for you."

It wasn't until he reminded her of how she had been then that she realized she really did have a good life now, even with the long hours. It wasn't that she hated where she was, or even her position as head mistress, but sometimes she needed the reminder of that fact every once in awhile. "Thank you."

"Just statin' the facts."

She decided not to tell him it wasn't about what he said about how she looked now compared to how she'd been then. She wasn't even sure it was for the reminder. Back then, life _had_ been rough for her, and he had found her in what had easily been the darkest part of her young life, having witnessed and been subjected to more cruelty than most people her age now ever had. She still wasn't sure what had compelled her to target him specifically back then. All she remembered was that she had been hungry, and he appeared to have at least enough money on him for a decent meal, and the paralyzing fear and rebellious anger she'd felt when he'd grabbed onto her thin wrist before she even touched his coat pocket.

'_Y' got skills, petite,'_ he'd told her in an accent thicker than the one he had now, more the deep Louisiana lilt than soft southern drawl he had now. _'But y' lousy at targetin'.'_ Then, much to her surprise, he hadn't turned her in or beat her bloody and left her to die (and she hadn't been sure which she would have preferred, really), but had taken her to a small café. Not sure what he wanted in return, she had eyed him warily, thoroughly annoyed when he started laughing, rich dark chocolate and chicory. _'Don' go lookin' at Remy like dat. Y' much too young, an' even if y' ain't, dis not de way to do it.'_

It took a few more long minutes for him to convince her to choose, pointing out their mutual hunger, before she relented and ordered. By that point, she was hungry enough that the linen napkin was starting to look savory.

He'd been there, waiting on friends he'd told her, but to her knowledge they never came. The next few days he was around, protecting her. When he'd left suddenly, and apparently against his will if he left his wallet behind, it rained for a week.

"So, I have a favor to ask," he said suddenly, breaking her reverie of the past.

"Oh?" she clucked her tongue at him. "Here less than a day and already demanding favors."

He had the decency to look abashed, like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, reminding her just how young he was now and not the man who had been so many years older than her. It was… an odd transition for her brain to make.

"If it makes you feel any better, it ain't really for me," he cajoled.

"What's the favor?"

"Rogue's gonna ask if she and I could go to Atlantic City. I was hoping you could convince Papa Bear to let her go." He focused his attention on fiddling with a stubborn ficus that refused to be anything more than half dead. It was an odd, and almost fascinating, display of something resembling shyness from a man she would have thought too self-assured for the emotion.

Her initial gut reaction was to refuse the favor. It seemed, on the surface, an absurd attempt by Remy to woo the young girl out of her clothes and into his bed. But then, she had learned long ago, even only knowing him a few short days, that what a person believed his intentions to be were generally weren't. "Why?"

"It's not just for me, Stormy. I mean, the poker would be nice and fun, but the girl is wound tight, and any tighter a spring's gonna snap and she'll break. The girl needs a vacation." He glanced up from a wilting sprig of foliage. "Ain't been here a day, and even I can see it."

Over the past several months, Rogue had descended from a moderately happy teenage school girl to an increasingly temperamental young woman, and Ororo realized that not everything was just the result of growing pains. Rogue _was_ tightly wound, almost obsessive compulsive in keeping any possibility of skin contact non existent. It was one of those things that Storm had been aware of on a subconscious level, but had been too close to actually notice. It wasn't a surprise that an outsider, Remy in particular with what had to be a sort of sixth sense, would pick up on something so obvious.

"A vacation would probably do her some good," she conceded. "However, wouldn't a vacation with someone she knew would be more beneficial?"

"She _does_ know me now," he pointed out with a sly grin, all traces of shyness gone from his face. "And perhaps she'd be able to relax more around someone who didn't walk so cautiously around her."

So, he'd noticed people's care at avoiding physical contact with the southern girl, as well. Idly, she wondered if this hyperawareness he seemed to have for Rogue was something he had in regards to everyone, or if there was something about the young girl that just drew him in. "Fine. I won't make any promises, but I will talk to him. On one condition. You know that lack of respect you have for other people's boundaries? Respect hers."

He grinned happily. "I think I can promise to try."

Ororo nodded, realizing that he would probably try for about two seconds before giving up and entrenching himself so deeply into the other girl's personal bubble that she would likely throw him through a brick wall if she could. Still, he promised, and she supposed that was the best she could ask for. "Good." She plucked some stray weeds from a flower bed, continuing to speak as she worked. "You're going with Logan tomorrow to get your records updated, so you might want to get at least a few hours of sleep in."

He groaned from behind her. "I don't see how you people can function during the day. All that light, every crevice lit up, no where to hide. Just ain't natural."

"Not everyone skulks in the shadows."

"I don't skulk! I utilize the cover of darkness to aide in stealthy maneuvering," he retorted with a haughty sniff. "And I will try to sleep, only if you will."

She leaned back and surveyed the expanse of plants in desperate need for her attention. Sadly, this was something that would have to wait for another day. "Fine." Brushing the loose dirt that clung to her dress slacks, she stood up and made a futile attempt to roll the day's aches from her shoulders.

"The plants will wait 'till the weekend, Stormy, and you look like you're about to fall flat on your face. Are you sure I'm the one that needs sleep?" With a grand sweeping gesture, he motioned for her to walk in front of him, both a mockery and homage to the chivalry he had buried in him. "After you."

Rolling her eyes, she walked on anyway. Then she paused, a sudden feeling of being at a crossroad. Maybe not of her own life, but of people she cared for. Things would change, one way or another, and she desperately hoped it wouldn't lead to something disastrous. Though he had said it softly at the end of their conversation, Logan's words about a train wreck came back to her. Though a life altering event, and an apt description for the sudden feeling she was getting, she wondered if it would indeed end in nothing but pain, or if the wreck was just a symbol of the way the two lines would be forever changed. Not for the bad, necessarily, but irrevocably changed nonetheless.

"Remy," she said cautiously, tilting her head so she could look at him, unsure of how to say it, but knowing she needed to get it out there. "I can see one of two things happening. Either you'll be very good for her, or you'll end up breaking her. Just… be careful."

"I wouldn't _hurt_ her," he defended himself, actually looking hurt that she could even think something like that of him.

"I didn't mean-" she sighed, pausing to take a breath. "I know you wouldn't, not on purpose. But she's…" Ororo almost wanted to tell him about the girl's abilities, to make him understand just how much damage he could do if, when he found out, he shied away from Rogue as many of the others had. It wasn't her place, though, for that was something that the young girl needed to tell, if she chose to.

"Look, 'Ro," he said softly. "I ain't saying she's the Prince Charming to my Sleeping Beauty, but she saved my life. I figure the least I could do is be a friend if it's needed."

Ororo smiled fondly, pleased that what she knew of him hadn't been skewered by a hero-worshipping eye of a preteen girl. However, the seriousness that he was looking at her with now did not fit with her memory of the man she remembered, or the boy standing before her, so she couldn't help but tease him with a twitch in her lips. "And I suppose the fact that you believe she looks great in leather has nothing to do with it?"

"Really, _really_ great," he agreed wholeheartedly, completely unashamed. "And I'm sure that fact doesn't hurt, but no. It really doesn't." The grin he gave her then left her wondering if he was serious or not.

And then, he was serious again. "The breaking thing, 'Ro? Can go both ways, you know." Then, with a flourish and a kiss to the back of her hand, he was gone, presumably to the spare room he'd been assigned.

**-end Three**

**

* * *

**

_*curls up in a ball* Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have posted this... but I did! It's done! And I won't take it down! So neener!_

_The next part is sorta kinda started. In a way. With Atlantic City. Kinda. Sorta. There will be gambling, dangit! And Salt Water Taffy! And... other Atlantic City Stuff!  
_


	4. Whiskey and Wine

Okay, so my Lookerer Over the Story Person **Sassyx22x** has called this 'The Longest Car Ride to Atlantic City Ever,' and I would have to agree. It didn't start out that way, but they just kept... talking. And stuff. And wouldn't let me get them to Atlantic City until this was all out of the way.

How rude of them! Hmph.

Thanks to everyone who pointed out the... odd sentence structures of the last chapter. I really need to figure out how to go back and change things. This site thwarts me! (Speaking of, **Doesn't Matter**, I am sad and flailing at my inability to respond in private at this moment, but yes please!)

Anyhoo, the next chapter WILL see them in Atlantic City. They WILL enjoy themselves. There WILL be gambling. And shenanigans on the boardwalk. I even have my mom a couple of dollars to pick me up some Salt Water Taffy while she was at work. For research purposes only, of course... My question is, what does one DO in Atlantic City aside from gamble? o.O

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Rogue honestly wasn't sure where her brain had been when she's agreed to this little adventure. Perhaps she had been sure that Logan would say no, and that she could spend the weekend flipping from wallowing in her room to showing the new guy around town.

Logan _had_ said no. In fact, he had said it loudly, often, and in more languages than Rogue even knew existed. Under the pretense of actually wanting to go – and she would never admit, even to herself, that a part of her actually _did_ want to go – she had pointed out that not only would it take Hank and Kitty at least until the end of the weekend to fully go over the data, but that she hadn't had a real vacation since before she'd even arrived at the school.

Soon after, Ororo had intervened, and she and Logan had spent the next half an hour debating the pros and cons of the little vacation. He had pointed out that they didn't know Remy well enough to allow him alone with Rogue, and that Rogue was too young for Casinos, anyway. Ororo had countered that Rogue was more than capable of taking care of herself and that there was more to do in Atlantic City besides gamble. And that the young girl had been, in fact, twenty-one for awhile now.

In the end, Ororo had won, leaving Logan to mutter irritably up to the time Rogue left. Before she had gotten into the driver's seat, he'd pulled her aside and handed her a tazer. "In case he keeps making those damn eyes at you," he'd growled.

She hadn't had time to ask or wonder what 'eyes' he'd been talking about when the subject of their one-sided conversation showed up, knocking his duffel bag against Logan's arm as he walked past.

"Don't worry, I'll keep your daughter safe," he said as he tossed his bag into the back seat.

Logan glowered. Rogue tsked.

Fifteen minutes later, after a stop at a gas station to fuel up and for Remy to moan and groan over the atrocious gas prices and terrifying cost of cigarettes, they were finally on the road. Fortunately, for the time being, Remy decided against picking back up the nasty habit of smoking. Unfortunately, as it turned out, he was a terrible back seat driver.

"You gonna actually start driving any time soon? You can get pulled over for going too slow, you know."

Rogue sighed irritably as she glanced at the speedometer. "I'm only two miles under the legal speed limit."

"You sure about that? I think the old lady with the walker just passed us up."

"If I'm so slow, would you rather get out and walk?" she asked, voice dripping with forced sweetness.

"No," he said after a moment's thought. "I may get there faster, but I much prefer your company."

Rogue unsuccessfully fought back a small smile as she pressed down enough on the gas to allow an extra five miles an hour.

The GPS system beeped, indicating that she should take the next exit to I-95 S. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remy jerk almost imperceptibly as his eyes narrowed at the slim device.

"It's not gonna bite you," she assured him, barely restraining a giggle at the memory of how'd he reacted the first time it had gone off. He had jumped in his seat and nearly tore off the device before she finally told him that no, the lady in the box was not going to come out and eat his soul. "You can even touch it without the world exploding."

He muttered something under his breath about a piece of technology not being what he wanted to touch, but tapped his finger against the screen anyway. It kept him occupied for a few minutes before it started to beep incessantly.

"What's that? What'd I do?" His hand was frozen above the panel, eyes widened in panic.

Rogue glanced at the screen before redirecting her eyes to the road. "You hit the self destruct."

"Ha ha, very funny." His voice was dry, but he still kept a wary eye on the machine.

"I'm serious, we have about twenty seconds before we explode." Turning on the hazards, she pulled the car over to the side of the interstate. Having been taught how to drive by Logan, and although he himself had an adamantium foot, he'd made sure to drill safe driving skills into her. "Okay, let's see what we have here…"

Much to her annoyance, the screen didn't like her thin gloves. With a warning to Remy to keep his paws to himself or she'd skin him alive to make cheap luggage, she peeled the scrap of cloth off and tapped a few buttons with her bare fingers. Apparently, the machine had chosen that moment to be a pain in the read end, because it refused to go back to the screen she told it to.

"Maybe if you push this then that," Remy suggested, moving his hand to show what he meant.

She felt it then; that familiar tug and pull against the back of her hand where his skin met hers, an electrostatic shock as though both had been scuffing along a thick shag rug in socks. Almost instantly she flinched, withdrawing her hand so fast that her knuckles cracked against the ceiling of the car, but she hadn't been fast enough to escape the onslaught of unfamiliar images that streaked through her mind. A gold pocket watch, a reflection of a scowling young boy with devil eyes in the a store front window, an alley way fight with a metal-clawed man, a blond woman, guards playing poker, an irrepressible urge to reach through a sea of thick liquid for that girl just beyond his reach. Quick as lightning, loud as thunder, gone in an instant and forever a part of her.

Her muscles were tense, buzzing with energy, urging her to move as her hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel. She didn't look at him, not wanting to see the inevitable horrified confusion, or the rearview mirror, knowing his eyes would look back at her through her face.

The light was too bright even through her closed eyes, and she realized then that the pulsating adrenaline wasn't a reaction to her fear of his touch, but was actually a part of his abilities. If this was only a taste of what it was like, it was no wonder that he fidgeted so restlessly and distracted as easily as a young boy with ADHD.

The burst of energy slowly ebbed away, leaving her muscles quaking and tired. Squinting over at him, the light was still too bright, but was more bearable. "You okay?"

He shook his head sharply, trying to shake off the sluggish feeling she knew he was experiencing. "Yeah. Feelin' like Mr. Sandman beat de crap out o' me, but yeah."

"Good," she ground out, barely resisting the urge to wring his neck, choosing instead to glare outright at him. "Do that again, and I will beat you like a red-headed step child."

He blinked before grinning. "How can I keep from doing whatever it is I ain't supposed to do when I don't even know what it is I did? Though I s'pect it has somethin' to do with those new creepy peepers of yours."

Snorting, she focused on the emergency blinkers. "Yeah."

"'S not permanent, is it? Your eyes are prettier."

Rogue whipped her head around to gawk at him, incredulous. Here she was, with his eyes, and he was worried he wouldn't get to see _hers_ again? Had he somehow managed to inhale too much of the goo, causing a block of blood flow to his head? Had he somehow managed to crack his skull when she hadn't been looking?

"What, no, it's not – Are you _brain damaged?_" she demanded as she forcefully pulled her glove back into place. "Do you have any idea what could have happened? If I held on too long, you'd not only be in a coma, but a permanent guest in my head! As it is, what part of you I _did_ absorb is currently giving a running commentary in French, and not the French they teach in high school, but _Cajun_ French, so instead of understanding half of what he says, I understand next to nothing, and what I _do_ understand would make Logan blush! And I am warning you right now, Remy LeBeau, if I get so much as a _hint_ of a sex dream of you with another woman because of your memories, you will wake up duct-taped to the flag pole in nothing but your boxers! And - why are my hands glowing?"

Her rant, which had been fueled by anger and fear, was abruptly cut off as she noticed the faint tinge of magenta to her otherwise deep green gloves. She remembered the explosion that brought Remy out of his sleep, and saw glimpses of powerful explosions from memories that weren't hers. She stared, horribly fascinated, as the glow grew brighter.

"This is a reaction to emotional duress," he responded calmly as he clasped his hands over hers. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip. "And if you let it build up without releasing or drawing it back in, you could blow off those pretty little fingers of yours."

She gulped, reflexively gripping his hands tightly at his words. His fingers took on a soft magenta glow as her gloves returned to their normal color, and she almost missed his nearly imperceptible wince. Had she clung on too hard?

_Nah, de glow just hurt like hell,_ his lingering psyche answered.

"Now," he continued, just as calmly as before, voice as smooth as fine whiskey. He caught her eyes in his gaze, drawing light circles over her wrists with the pads of his thumbs. "You should try not to get too excited for awhile, unless you want things to go boom."

Surprisingly enough, she felt her pulse slowing as her breathing evened out. Her emotions were still there, she was angry and frightened, but they settled beneath a layer or serenity. "What are you doing?" she asked in a curious haze.

"Just tryin' to get you to relax," he replied in that same steady voice.

Rogue's eyebrow arched. "If this is some snake-charming thing you have going on, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Remy smiled at that, broad and full of amusement. "Somehow I doubt you'd fall for my charmin' ways."

Her answering snort was full of haughty pride, though she knew she wouldn't be quite as immune as he thought. It wouldn't do, though, to let her companion know just how susceptible she could be if he tried. It was dangerous for both of them, and she wasn't quite sure who could end up hurt more in the aftermath. "You better believe it, Sugar."

His eyes lost all the humor in them as he looked at her then, suddenly serious. "Tell me what you wanted to tell me," he prompted, his thumbs never ceasing their slow assault against her wrists. "Something about absorbing. You can leave out the flagpole bit, though."

So Rogue told him, offering a cliff-notes version of a story she was so familiar with that she knew what possible reactions he would give in this script. Wide eyes, pity, a slow emotional and physical withdraw that would hurt worse than the running from the car, screaming all the way back to the school. She'd seen them all, and hated each one.

"Okay," he said simply, when it was obvious she was done. He withdrew his hands from hers, leaving her fingers suddenly chilled and her wrists tingling, as he settled back into his seat. This would be the part where he asked that they go back, maybe even showing a cruel kindness and suggesting his reasoning was on _her_ behalf, that she was obviously too tired to continue.

Instead, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses from an inner pocket of his coat and carefully slid them up behind her ears, leaving the world rose-colored. She was too stunned by his actions to pull away. "You'll be wanting these until your eyes clear up, Chére, light can be a bitch while you drive. Which, you know, you should start doing soon if you still want to make it by lunch."

There was only one thing she could say, with all the eloquence of a trout flopping on the deck of a boat. "Huh?"

"What? You thought, maybe after you told me your dirty little secret, I'd run for my life? I've met people with mutations far worse than yours. I ain't afraid of you, Missy." When she glared at him over the rim of the sunglasses, he winced. "Okay, maybe a little. Your peepers are givin' me the jeebies. Now, stop with the pity party and drive."

Rogue glowered at him for a moment longer before pulling back onto the interstate. He clearly had brain damage. Or maybe he actually believed her mutation didn't put him off, but odds were that eventually, it would, as it always had. She gave him a generous month before he started to shy away, if he chose to stay on at the institute.

Then, a memory flashed through her mind, causing her to forget her train of thought and her cheeks to flush a dark red as her eyes widened. With one hand still on the wheel, shaded eyes focused ahead, she aimed and struck his shoulder with her fist.

"Ow, hey!" he exclaimed, more surprised by the punch than actually hurt. "What's with the sudden gratuitous violence?"

"That's for starin' at my… uniform!"

-

Much to Remy's relief, her eyes did return to their normal green after a short while. The moment she handed his glasses back to him and gave him a sly wink without his red irises staring back at him had been… almost erotic.

Apparently, though, while she was no longer in danger of blowing the steering wheel to kingdom come, she still held onto vestiges of some of his more… charming personality traits. Neither had really noticed this until they'd pulled into a shell station for a quick drink and a top-off of their (ridiculously _overpriced_) fuel tank. As they had left the store, he heard one of the pretty girls behind the counter turn to her friend and ask in a hushed whisper if that girl had just hit on her.

He wasn't sure which he found more amusing, Rogue's stiffening spine and horrified expression or the girl's bewildered question. Either way, he found himself chuckling lightly. Rogue shot him a glare that would have undoubtedly withered any man who hadn't been raised by _Tante_ Mattie. As it was, he just winced slightly as he tried to find a way to diffuse the situation.

"Sorry 'bout that, _petite,_" he called out in a slow drawl and a playful wink. "She's just tryin' to make me jealous."

Perhaps not the best way to make the situation better, if the way Rogue stalked back to the car was an indication, but it did cause the cashier to blush scarlet and her coworker to laugh.

When he slid back into the passenger seat, he felt the temperature had dropped several degrees, and not from the air conditioner blasting on high. Risking a glance at the driver, he saw that her knuckles would be white under the thin gloves she wore and could almost hear her teeth grinding.

"That was… interesting," he commented, not sure how much of his life he was risking with that comment.

"_Interesting?_" she demanded heatedly, whipping around to face him. "I _hit_ on a _girl_ and all you can say was that it was _interesting?!_"

He thought for a moment, wondering if he should resort to self preservation. However, as safe as he would be in placating her, she was just too fun to needle, and the urge to see her so worked up was irresistible. "Okay then, how about hot as hell?"

Her eyes blazed, and he knew that if she still possessed his abilities, the car would have glowed a bright white under the concussive force of her anger. "It's _your_ depraved inability to keep from hitting on anything with breasts and legs that you're finding so _hot,_" she hissed as she threw the car into drive and slammed her foot on the gas.

The sudden forward momentum threw him back against the seat before he could right himself, and he clamored to get the seat belt snuggly in place. Her bottle of diet soda fell from the bag and landed in a quite uncomfortable place, causing him to grunt and his eyes to cross briefly.

"Don't worry, your drink got revenge for you," he choked out, handing her the bottle before pulling out his own bottle of tea.

"Good drink," she cooed softly to the bottle as she twisted the cap off.

Remy harrumphed slightly, taking a sip of what passed for iced tea in this day and age.

He had been horrified that the only form of soda he liked, cream soda, had been infiltrated with vanilla. All of it. It wasn't that he hated vanilla, but there was some things that just didn't go into cream soda. And, if memory served, the brand that offered 'sparkling' cream soda, compared to the real deal, was like buying a cheap bottle of wine that tasted more like bread and bubblegum and left you with a killer hang over in the morning as compared to the expensive brand that stores kept locked in a glass case.

A wine or whiskey that he'd barely had a taste of, only to find he's too young to buy alcohol and out of cash anyway, but he's already addicted. For this reason, he would find any way he could to get what was behind that glass case, to reach that untouchable bottle of a vintage that was too rare to be an everyday thing. The other bottles lining the shelves, unhindered by lock and key, would probably stave off part of this new and hindering addiction, but nothing would quite be like working to get, and finally obtaining, that which he could not reach.

He paused, bottle of tea halfway to his open lips, as he realized that he wasn't thinking about cream soda anymore. He peered at Rogue out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she was more aged whiskey or vintage whine. Smooth and tough, yet knocking him flat on his ass with a deceptive sudden strength? Or sweet and strong, throwing him for a loop more slowly, yet with an effectiveness that left him waking up in the morning only to go back the next night, begging for more?

He wasn't sure, and probably never would, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with the strong desire to find out. If he had to, he would find the key to that glass case, even if he had to steal it.

After all, he was still a thief. And what would a thief be if not going after that which normal people could not obtain? To thrive on the thrill of the heist, the promise of the prize?

And then she glanced over at him, catching his eye and turning back to the road, giving a half flustered smile. "Stop looking at me like that," she scolded, not without a fluster in her voice. "I'm still angry at you. And your psyche. No amount of puppy dog eyes is gonna change that."

Remy knew he should retort with something to that, an innuendo to anger her further or a comment to placate, but he suddenly found himself at odds with his own innate nature. To thieve was his way of life, to go after her with all the zeal and finesse he could muster second nature. But, with her, it felt more than that, as though knowing if he went into this as he had before, neither would walk away unchanged.

He remembered the feel of her gloved hands in his, her wide eyes as he saved her delicate fingers, her diverted gaze when she told him just what it was that she did, what her skin could do. She had truly believed that he would withdraw then, pull away and throw what was barely a friendship out the window. All he'd wanted to do in that instant was reassure her, to pull her close and promise never to let go. It went against who he was, to feel so much for a singular person, even one who had saved his life from eternal pause not a week before.

It was then that he realized she was neither wine nor whiskey, brandy nor bourbon. She was something else, something he hadn't quite encountered before, and he knew without a doubt even without that taste he'd been craving moments before, he was already completely addicted to her.

**-end Part Four**

* * *

Dun dun dun! Could this be lurv? Or could this simply be a classic case of attraction-to-the-pretty-face-that-saved-me-from-being-cryogenically-frozen? (Actually, if this has happened more than once, I would like to know XD It probably has.)


	5. Lady Luck's a Tad Drunk

Okay, I know, I know, its been forever yet again... This time, it wasn't from lack of writing, but from writing too _much._ As it is, this is the beginning of what will now be three parts... the next bit is mostly written but in desperate need of revising, and the one after that is started. And, thanks to the glorious **Sassyx22x **(she's wrote some awesome stuff on the comic book side. Go! Read! Be in awe! Er, after you read this. Or not... up to you...) who put up with my countless ramblings, I may actually have the semblance of some form of plot! Or, if nothing else, a few semblances of plots in an otherwise plotless story! There will be fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Who am I kidding? This ain't The Princess Bride. There may be one or two of those, but no way all of them. Although, it _would_ be fun to see someone fence... And I don't mean the kind that you put around your house, either, although in the right setting, that would be interesting, as well.

Oh dear, I'm rambling again. Anyhoo, I also wanted to apologize to my (glorious!) reviewers. See, I'm really _really_ bad at responding. And if or when I do, which sadly doesn't happen often, I have this bad habbit of either leaving a sentence or a novel for a reply. And I never know what to say. But know that I read them, and hoarde them like a dragon hoardes its treasure! Now, that's not me asking for more reviews, because really, how can I ask for something that I'm horrible at giving myself? Just letting yall know that I DO read them, and appreciate them. Love them! And the alerts and favorites, too! They're all like tastey candy. Chocolate and peanutbutter candy, which as we all know is the best! Well, I suppose not so much for people who don't like those, or are allergic... or favor taffy... Oh dear. I really should stop this rambling thing. Probably more annoying than anything else... That is, if you haven't completely skipped this part and read onward, which is probably what I would have done by now. So yes. I am hushing now.

Oh! **Doesn't Matter**, here you go :D vidgoddessatgmaildotcom

And I am probably forgetting something else that I will be kicking myself for later, but I would like to get this posted before I go to bed. I am half asleep and a little tired, which may (or may not) account for the rambling.

And I always seem to forget this part...

**Disclaimer:** I in no way own the comics, the movies, or the characters that are portrayed in this story. If they are not from the comics or the movies, odds are I loosely based them on someone I know, so I technically don't own them, either. Also, any names, places, or things, that are copyrighted and that I have used, I lay no claim to them, either. In fact, I will tell you all that I _do_ own, really, is my computer. I don't even own my cat, adorable thing that she is. More like _she_ owns_ me._ And I also have about a ton or two glorified paperweight in the driveway that used to be a car. Oh! And I don't own the diner they go to. As far as I know, it exists no where in reality. However, it _is_ based off a diner in the awesome, the incredible, the _first_ fully CGI TV series called _ReBoot_. Not sure why I picked it, though really, only the diner's name and owner are really borrowed from this (have I mentioned awesome?) TV show.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

It felt so good to get out of the car and stretch her legs when they finally reached the diner. It was a different feeling than when getting out at a gas station mid trip. Then, while muscles were stretched and aches soothed, there was an impending knowledge that there was more cramped traveling ahead of her. Here, now, as Rogue stretched her arms high enough to lift her to her toes, a strange sense of accomplishment singed through muscle and sinew. Even if it _was_ only driving for a few hours.

Al's Diner was quaint, an out of the way place that they had actually found by accident. While only just off the highway, it was actually tucked behind a few chain restaurants, and if it hadn't been for both of them wanting to experience local food instead of something they could get in any major city, they would have overlooked it altogether.

Remy followed her in through aged doors, a bell ringing over their head as they entered. There weren't many patrons, only a handful of people sat in booths or at the counter, each individual concentrating solely on their cup of coffee or piece of pie. She chose a booth next to the large window that overlooked the beach, tiny speck though it was, merely a spec of tan in the distance. Even so, she could imagine the families down there, small children playing with their parents, the couples that loitered flirtatiously on oversized beach towels, even the bully that kicked sand on the back of the boyfriend of the girl he liked. She could picture it all, yet see none of it.

People watching always had been a favorite past time of hers, even on the occasion that it left a bitter tang in her throat at the reminder of what couldn't be.

"Afternoon, folks," a woman's slow measured voice startled her out of her musings. Turning from the glass, she was met with a smiling older lady with frizzy blonde hair pulled in a bun and a kind disposition. "My name is Sally, and I'll be your waitress today. The lunch special is posted on the board over the counter, but any questions, please feel free to ask. Can I get you anything to drink while you decide what to get?"

"A coke for me, please," Rogue said.

"Just coffee, thanks." After Sally walked off with a wink to them both, Remy turned to Rogue. "So what's on the agenda for today? Wanna play tourist? We can even wear floppy hats and nose cream and take pictures in front of every building."

The image of him dressed as an atypical tourist, while still wearing his long coat, made her giggle. "Only if we can pester the locals into taking them."

Sally came back with their drinks then, and both placed their orders. The waitress walked over to the counter and yelled what they wanted toward the back, addressing the assumed owner, Al, who, apparently, was also the cook.

A brief pause, followed by a loud '_what?_' echoed through the small diner.

Shaking her head, Sally called out, "Half deaf fool," a bit fondly. Which, of course, was followed by another '_what?_'

Amused by the interplay, Rogue took a long sip of her soda. "You know, I've never actually _been_ inside a casino before."

"Really?" he asked, mildly surprised and calculating. "Well, then, good thing you're with me."

"You sound so sure of yourself," she commented wryly.

"Of course. Some things are like riding a bike," he said as he leaned forward, his voice deepening as he spoke in a quieter tone. "Don' worry, Chére. I'll make sure your first time is both… enjoyable and unforgettable."

The comment made her cheeks feel hot. Really, talks about casinos should not make her feel flustered all around. So, a brief change in topic was in order. After all, it just wouldn't do to feel on uneven ground around this man. Of course, the only topic she could really think of at the moment – at least, one that did not send her reeling into a fit of emotions that she hadn't felt in far too long – was something that she'd been curious about since shortly after they'd met.

"Speaking of falling off bikes," she began, proud that she could find a way to seamlessly bridge the conversation without it seeming forced, "Are things _really_ that different today from what they were… well… before?"

"Of course," he stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And, Rogue supposed, it was. But she found herself interested in just how different her world was from his. "Everything seems more… streamlined. More compact."

"No, I know about technology being different. I meant… other things." She floundered for a moment, trying to grasp what she actually wanted to know. "Between people, I suppose."

His eyebrows came together as he tried to think of an answer. "Do you mean, in regards to public opinions of mutants, or in general?"

"Mutants. General. Both?" She must have sounded insane, or not quite sure of what she was asking. Maybe even both. He didn't seem to mind all that much, though.

"There will always be animosity between people," he started out. "Whether its gender, class, race, religion politics. Genetic predisposition. But if you're asking if there's more tolerance…"

"Well… yeah, I guess."

"I don't really know yet," he admitted with a shrug, leaning back in the booth and draping his arms over the high seat. "I haven't really had much time to explore it yet. But let me ask you this… would you feel comfortable admitting to our lovely Sally here that you have abilities beyond what she's capable of? And I'm not talking about your kick-ass fighting style, here."

With a glance over at their waitress, who was currently taking the order of a surly looking man at the counter, she slowly shook her head. "I don't know her well enough, Remy. Not sure how she'd react."

"That's my point. No matter what the times are, there's always someone who holds onto different beliefs than what you have. The only thing that you have going for you in this case is that you can hide what you are pretty easily. Some have it a bit harder. Now, if you were to run into a sexist, or what have you, well…" he shrugged again.

Rogue sighed, not sure his answer was exactly what she was looking for. Did she want clarification that the times today, while not exactly ideal, were better than they had been? He was right, though. He hadn't had enough experience to put her questions into practice.

"Okay, so there's that," she finally conceded. "But you have to admit, that given time, most problems like that fade with time. People become accustomed, not nearly as bigoted as they used to be. Or, if not a person in particular, future generations."

"People as a whole will always find a reason to hate, to fear," he stated simply, staring at his coffee cup as he spoke slowly. "Always find a reason to exploit what they don't understand."

He had a point. It seemed that, once one bridge was crossed in the bringing of humanity together, another sprang from the ground, even more insurmountable than the last. Yet, if she chose to think along that path, she could imagine the helplessness of the situation. "Sometimes, you need to give them a chance."

He didn't answer, only gave another mild shrug of his shoulders, but she could tell he didn't really hear her. It was as though he were lost to her, in his own world.

Several minutes later, Remy was beginning to scare her. Not for what he was saying, or doing, but of what he _wasn't._ He was drawn into himself as he ran an idle finger around the rim of his coffee cup. She wouldn't be worried, marking it as just a pleasant pause in conversation, had it not been for his sudden quiet – something that he most certainly was not for any extended periods of time - or the slight tightening around his lips and eyes.

He only broke out of it when Sally came by, setting their plates down and asking if either wanted a refill. Snapping his eyes toward the older woman as if being jolted out of a daze, he gave a tight smile and nodded.

"For you, Darlin'?"

Rogue started as well, and with a polite 'yes, please,' the waitress was sent off with both cup and mug.

They both seemed to use the excuse of food to ignore his lapse. At least, she did. It was a subject she wasn't exactly sure how to broach, and a stark reminder of just how little she knew about Remy LeBeau.

As she took a bite of her last fry, a chirping sounded from her pocket, indicating a text message. Rolling her eyes, she dug it out, and was not all that surprised to see a message from Logan. In all honesty, she was stunned that he had held off trying to contact her before now.

_Cajun keeping his grubby paws to himself?_

Shaking her head, she pressed in a quick reply before snapping the phone shut. She caught Remy watching her curiously. "It was Logan, asking how the trip was so far," she lied smoothly.

"Oh? What you tell him?"

"That we found a chapel, got hitched, and now I'm eight months pregnant with septuplets." Really, Wolverine was highly overdue for a heart attack. Kept the old man on his toes.

"You know he's gonna use that as an excuse to try to kill me later," he stated distantly, still eyeing the phone.

Rogue fought back a giggle. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." Then his interest seemed to hit her, and she barely held off in smacking herself in the forehead. "Sorry… you know what this is, right?"

"Of course I know what this is," he admonished as he took the phone from her hand. With an expert twitch of his fingers, the cell flipped open, and he held it not far from his mouth. "Gambit's log, Star date unknown. Day eight in this strange new world out of time. So many weird things, but fortunately shoulder pads are now out of style. Insanity would have struck sooner had it not been for the accompaniment of a gorgeous, if not violent, Rogue, who-"

Laughing, she snatched the phone from his hands. "You loon." She stole a fry from his plate, if only to hide the oddly pleased grin at his appraisal of her. Really, she should want to kick his butt for the 'violent' quip.

"I say, today we gamble, and tomorrow we lick our wounded prides and do the tourist thing."

"You may be lickin' _your_ pride, but I rarely leave a casino empty handed."

"The boy is cocky, who would have thought?" she mused out loud with a laugh. "Alright, _Gambit,_ you promised to make my first casino experience memorable. I'm holding you to that."

A sly wink was her only response, and she began to wonder exactly what she'd gotten herself into.

-

The casino, true to the movies she'd seen, was overly bright and flashy. Beside her, though, Remy whistled appreciatively, clearly impressed.

"Seems there's been upgrades since I was in a joint like this last," he commented as an attendant checked their IDs and let them pass, and soon the duo was surrounded by compulsive gamblers and people just looking for fun and a quick buck.

"Including surveillance and security, so no funny business, Mister," Rogue teased with a warning shake of her finger.

He scoffed at the idea. "Too good to cheat, Chére. There's a reason they call me Gambit."

"You're a sacrificial pawn in the chess game of life?"

"No," he tried to sound exasperated, but his amused grin ruined the affect. "I know when to hold, when to fold, and when the pot is worth a little… risk."

She somehow managed to hold back a flinch as he trapped a strand of white between his fingers, a feat she was secretly proud of, as she met his dark eyes with a steady gaze.

"One of these days, you're gonna find yourself in over your head with a hand you can't possibly win no matter how hard you try."

For one long moment, he appraised her slowly, eyes lazily trailing over her face as his lips quirked upward. Then he allowed her hair to slip from his fingers to flutter back down to her shoulder before leaning in close. "Challenge accepted."

As he slid past her, she blinked, confused. _She_ had thought they'd still been talking about gambling, but apparently he hadn't been. In fact, it was almost as though he'd been flirting with her. Of course, he seemed to flirt with anything belonging to the female species, so she shouldn't really take it too seriously.

On the off chance that he was, it was clear that she should then have him committed. She could have easily placed him in a coma earlier, and then proceeded to not only freak him out with his own eyes, but to demonstrate an acute awareness of his flirtatious personality. The fact that she'd had little control over any of these situations didn't really matter, not really at any rate. Neither did the fact that, if she allowed herself to think about it closely enough, or if circumstances were different and it wouldn't end up in a mess, she probably wouldn't mind all that much if he _did._

Bah. Darn him and his confusing, flirtatious ways, anyway.

"Move them pretty legs of yours, Roguey. The tables, they wait for no man!"

Squelching the urge to flay him, and suddenly unable to remember _why_ she even _thought_ for a fraction of a second that his advances would be in any way welcome, she gritted her teeth and followed close behind him. "Hold your horses, you impatient brat."

Even at the disadvantage of being around twenty years out of his league, Remy still knew his way around a casino pretty well. When she asked about this, he told her that while the times and technology changed, the games themselves didn't. Not really, at any rate. This didn't stop him from balking at the computerized card games, though, and he added that half the challenge of the game was bluffing and calling other people on attempting to do the same. While he apparently wasn't a stranger to poker games played with machines, he told her he never cared for them, preferring the feel of real cards in his hands.

"I'm not much of a poker player," she admitted. "I barely know that a flush beats a pair."

"I'll teach you sometime," he promised. "In the mean time, what about Black Jack? Ever play _that?_"

"Do computerized games count?" she teased with a grin.

He winced and led her to a table. "It'll do."

Laughing at his reaction, she slid into a chair at the table, smiling at the dealer.

The game, as it turned out, was very different from the little electronic games she'd played. For one, it was actual money put into those chips she watched vanish before her, and not a bunch of digitized numbers.

For another, she'd forgotten just how much she sucked at this game.

About the only thing that didn't place a huge dent in her wallet were the free drinks that a nice waitress offered. At Remy's suggestion, since her alcohol experience was limited to that of Nyquil, she ordered a glass of Merlot. When the woman reappeared during her second losing hand, Rogue placed a couple dollars on the tray.

A couple more hands of losing gloriously, she sighed heavily.

"Something wrong, Chére?"

She glowered at his growing pile of chips. "I forgot that I'm bad at this game."

He chuckled smoothly. "A little practice, is all you need."

With a withering glance at her own diminishing pile, she folded. "I think I'm gonna try my luck elsewhere. Slot machines sound good."

"Slot machines?" he asked with a laugh. "No skills in those, you know."

Gathering up her remaining chips, she looked imperiously down her nose at him. "Exactly, _Monsieur_ LeBeau. If I lose, at least it's from bad luck and not bad skills."

Draining the rest of her wine – really, she didn't want look like an alcoholic strolling around with a half empty glass – she spun on her heel. The effect of her storming off was drastically hampered by a slight miscalculation of balance and a sudden rush to her head. She was saved from falling flat on her face by a warm, steadying hand on her waist.

"Thank you," she said with a sharp tug of her shirt down, nodding firmly as she concentrated on properly storming off this time, one foot in front of the other.

"Nice girl you got there," she heard the dealer remark. "Quite sassy."

"Yeah, that she is." She decided to ignore the fond tone of Remy's voice. It just wouldn't do to have a curiously giddy smile – one that she was currently fighting – while striding off in a huff.

Her, admittedly mostly feigned, annoyance at her traveling companion faded shortly after a detour to the ladies' room. And older 'gentlemen,' and she used the term loosely, appeared suddenly before her. He wobbled slightly where he stood, and when he spoke his voice was slurred. If he _was_ drunk, he must have been drinking something with no scent, although the lack of smell could be simply because she'd been drinking, herself.

"Why hello there, sweetheart," his voice oozed down her spine like algae. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?"

"I'm _not_ here alone, thank you." When the urge to either beat a man senseless or thoroughly disinfect for even being near someone, fall back on polite disinterest. Saves on the cost of body disposal and bleach.

"I wouldn't leave such a pretty thing all by her lonesome if I were with you," he simpered as he moved to block her path again, bringing an oversized meaty paw of a hand up close to her face.

Jerking her head back and out of his reach was not just the instinctual self-preservation of keeping him from out of her head. The man just reeked of skeevy, the type who would lure girls into a dark alley way, and she didn't want to end her vacation with a trip to a hospital and force fed the morning after pill.

That, and the military type who tortured innocent people in small rooms then went home to kiss their wives.

"I assure you, _sir, _I am _more_ than capable of taking care of myself."

She brushed past him then, finally able to escape. Normally, she wouldn't be nearly so bothered by old men making a pass at her. After all, much worse had happened than a few harmless, if not creepy, flirtations. But there was something about this man that set her teeth on edge, not unlike passing by the teacher that made life a living hell in the second grade fifteen years later. Only creepier.

For several long seconds, she seethed in the rows of slot machines, too keyed up to pick one and sit down. It took everything she had not to turn around and wipe the floor with that man, and with that the eerily familiar sensation she had of him. Maybe coming here was a mistake, maybe it was too soon to venture out beyond the safety of the mansion grounds. Missions were one thing, being always on edge because that was the point. Here, though, she wasn't supposed to jump at every sound, every touch. It was supposed to be a vacation, but of course, her mind wouldn't listen.

"Excuse me, Miss, you okay?"

The woman's voice broke her out of her inner rambling, startling her into instinctual action. With a faint twist and turn of her body, she stared in the eyes of a waitress who just looked at her, a testament to all sorts of things she'd seen in a casino even as ritzy as this one.

"Oh, um yeah." Feeling rather foolish for almost beating down on the lady who'd brought her and Remy drinks, she relaxed her stance, trying to act as though she'd merely been standing casually. Of course, she probably failed. "Just had a man several times my age try to hit on me. Kinda unnerving."

"I bet," the waitress stated with a small amount of sympathy. "Men generally think they're god's gift to womankind. Throw in a few drinks, they're regular Lotharios. Anyway, I was just at your last table, and your boyfriend said that you'd moved onto the slots. Hope you don't mind, but your glass was empty, so I thought I'd bring you a refill."

"He's not my… we're just… he's… thanks." With heated cheeks, she accepted the glass, wondering if that's what everyone who saw them thought. Did she and Remy look like a normal couple, out on the town in a state of romantic, gambling bliss? Oh dear.

The waitress turned and was about to leave before Rogue remembered that she hadn't tipped. Oh dear, again! "Hey, wait," she called out. When the other woman turned, she slipped the smallest bill she had – a five – onto the tray. "Sorry, my mind was elsewhere."

Smiling, the waitress slipped the bill into her apron. "No problem. Oh, and…" leaning forward, she continued in a whisper. "The machine behind you hasn't struck in awhile. I think it may be due to, if you wanna try it."

Blinking, Rogue turned to look at the machine that was sitting so innocuously with its lever. It looked like all the rest in the row, but hey, what did she know?

With a smile, "Thanks, I think I will."

"Cool beans. I'll be back in a few to check on your drinks. Enjoy!"

And then, Rogue was alone with the machine that may or may not win.

And what was better, instead of coins, it dispensed digitized numbers. While she wasn't under the delusion that it wasn't actual money she was playing with, the illusion helped.

Sitting down, she settled for a few hours of drinking, gambling, and maybe even more drinking. The alcohol helped her forget the creepy man with overly large hands.

-

Black Jack, while not usually his game, did help bring in some funds. Enough so that he could move on to his true love. Poker.

He'd been playing for a while with a group of people that were either in awe of him or plotting his untimely demise. Even the dealer seemed skeptical that his skills were not from lack of cheating.

It really wasn't his fault that these people didn't really know how to play.

Besides, he personally didn't think he was as into the game as he should have been. His mind would continuously drift to Rogue. Was she keeping herself out of trouble? Was she streaking through the casino, giving drunken shouts as she threw her shirt at dumbfounded men? Okay, so this seemed highly implausible for the tightly wound woman he'd barely met, but she wasn't exactly used to going out and drinking.

Maybe he should have asked the waitress to water down her drinks…

"Your bet, man." Mike was about the only one not giving him the stink eye. In fact, the son of a successful business man seemed more amused than anything else when Remy took his chips at the end of a round. Playing with daddy's money and purposefully losing, perhaps? The kid had to have connections. He looked barely old enough to drive, let alone gamble.

"Right, sorry," he muttered before throwing in some chips, remembering as he did that he wanted to raise. _Get your head in the game, LeBeau._ While this was a game he could play half knocked out on cold medicine – which he'd done before – and still win, it wouldn't do to let a girl, no matter how pretty, distract him from the win.

Sure enough, his three of a kind beat the kid's pair.

His next round was fairly good. Enough to set him in a sense of security for this round. Of course, he knew that now would be the time that Mike would actually step up his game. Remy wasn't so foolish not to consider the fact that the young boy had been trying to lull his opponents into a false sense of security. While the kid looked like he should still be clinging to his mother's apron strings, that doesn't mean that he hadn't been playing since he was three.

Unlikely, but not impossible.

Cindy, the waitress that had been bringing him drinks and had gone in search of Rogue shortly after she'd left, came by and wordlessly replaced his glass. "Your girlfriend seems to be doing better."

"She's a bit of a lightweight," he defended with a fond smile. "Don't tell me I missed anything fun?" Bets were placed, raises made, and his seeming distraction worked well in his favor.

"No… well, yeah, after the incident, she cooled down pretty quickly. Has had a few more wines than I thought she would, even tried some Kryptonite. She's actually quite adorable when buzzed."

"Wait, what? Is she okay?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just some Captain Morgan and coconut rum with splashes of-"

"No, what incident? What happened?"

"Some intoxicated gentleman was putting the moves on her. Security escorted him out when they saw him try to grab her face. She was a bit angry, but she's fine."

He was just a few rounds from clearing everyone at the table out… As it was, the pot, while not tremendous, was still an admirable size. However, if he didn't get going now, he would really kick himself if he found out something bad had happened to Rogue while he was having a good time. He started gathering up the chips he hadn't tossed to the center.

"You know if he actually touched her?"

"Not sure. She didn't say anything, but she's fine, walked away pretty angry but she _is_ fine."

Chips gathered, he stood up and tossed his cards on the table. "Apologies, gentlemen, but I must fold out."

"A full house, Andrew! He folded with a full house!" By this time, Remy was too far away to hear Andrew's reply to Mike.

With her unique hair, he would have thought it would have been easier to find her. But it took him awhile, going up and down isles of slot machines. Was she still playing them, or had she moved on to something else?

Then he saw a flash of white as a young woman tossed her head, laughing, and he realized why it had been so difficult to spot her. He'd been looking for a hunched figure, drawn in on herself, tightly wound. Here she was, though, almost lounging in her chair, looking so carefree and almost actually happy. He paused for a moment before going over, wanting to somehow keep her at this stage, to hold her close and not let her go back to the sad girl he knew she'd return to being.

Of course, this was just the adrenaline rush talking.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked from behind her, startling her slightly. She turned to smile up at him, more open than he'd seen before, and if it hadn't been for the slight glaze to her eyes or the flush of her cheeks – who was he kidding? She could look at him like that three sheets to the wind and it would still send a thrill through him.

"I'm fine," she replied with a slight slur and more of a Mississippi drawl than usual. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Cindy said you'd had some problems, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He leaned down close, not wanting anyone to over hear him in the otherwise empty row. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"Oh, she's such a tattle tale," she harrumphed with a pout. "And I'm fine. No grandpa sleeze in my head. Well, unless you count Magneto. He's still there, somewhere. Gets really agitated when I watch movies about the world wars. I couldn't even watch the third _Anne of Green Gables_ movie without him getting all prickly every two seconds! I mean, come on, it's _Anne_ of Frikkin' _Gables!_ Granted, not the best of the three, but still."

He had absolutely no clue what she was talking about, but he just nodded through her tirade, amused. "Glad to see you're okay, then."

Rogue's nose crinkled when she smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek, barely missing his eye when she did do. "You're so cute when you're worried."

"Just play your game," he groused.

He was attacked by her hair as she whipped back around, and she pulled the lever again. The fruit spun, out of control, and his eyes widened before the last bar stopped.

No freaking way.

"You have got to be kidding me." Of course, his voiced disbelief was drowned out by the loud bells that echoed through the spacious casino floor.

"Oh, I made sparklies!"

"I'd say you made more than that, Chére." Leaning forward to read how much she had, he let out a low whistle. "Maybe enough to buy a small house."

Rogue scoffed. "Times have changed, Remy. I may be able to get a car." At that thought, her eyes brightened. "Oh, my own car! Brand new, off the lot! Maybe one of those gas savers. A Prius! But not a powder blue Prius."

Obviously, he was missing some joke, but whatever made her giggle like that, even if it was just something in her own head that he would never understand, how could he argue with that?

She wasn't done yet, but she seemed to halt her devious plans for helpless automobiles with a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, fingers poking him through his coat. "Take _that_ Mr. Slot-Machines-Are-Stupid."

"I never said they were _stupid_, just that they require no skill and too much luck. Which, apparently, you have."

"No skill?"

"No, luck." He sighed, but was saved from any further misunderstandings when an impressive looking woman strode toward them.

Now, instincts told him to run when someone of importance in a casino came walking toward him. While he may not cheat, he apparently had more skill than most people, and that made it appear as though he were, in fact, cheating. He had spent more than one evening trying to convince security guards on steroids that he _hadn't_ cheated. When they were finally convinced, if they even were, he was usually asked not to return. Idly, he wondered if those were life time bans, or if there was perhaps a statute of limitations on those things?

About the only thing that kept him from bolting, aside from Rogue's loose grasp on his coat, was that this woman didn't look as though she were about to take them downstairs to get acquainted with fists. In fact, she was actually smiling warmly at Rogue.

Five minutes later, they were booked out of their hotel and into a high roller suite, courtesy of the casino.

Apparently, it paid to have waitresses thinking they were a couple.

-

"Yeah, Boss. I think it's him."

"_What do you mean, you _think?_ Either it's him, or it isn't!"_

"Well, they kinda… kicked me out before I could get actual confirmation."

"_And why would you get kicked out?"_

"Well, I was trying to scope out his companion. Try to get a feel for her. I may have… acted drunk. And hit on her. I thought that since she was with _him_, she might like older men."

There was a brief pause. Then, _"You. Are a moron."_

"Yes, Boss. Want me to grab him up now, Boss?"

"_No. Keep an eye on them. I don't want to raise suspicions if he's here with someone, especially if it's _not _him. And don't mess this up. You're still on thin ice."_

"Yes, Boss."

Whether or not the man on the other end heard or not, he would never know. There was a click as the cell phone was disconnected.

With a sigh, he settled down on the park bench across from the Borgata, hoping he didn't have to wait very long for the two to come out.

**-end Chapter Five**

* * *

For those wondering, the part about the powder blue Prius was originally used in a hilarious Jeff Dunham's skit.


	6. Flirtations

There... really isn't an excuse for how long it took me to get this thing updated. I'm truly sorry! I did start school since the last post, and the following January I experienced a computer crash of epic proportions. All of my work on this that I had on the computer was lost in a blaze of glory. I was... quite disheartened. I did manage to find most of this part in an attachment I had sent to someone in an email.

I think it's painfully obvious what has been edited now and what was written two years ago... Hopefully the voice of my narration hasn't changed too much! And if it has, I hope for the better.

Also, I still don't have the entire thing plotted out in my head, though. I have ideas, and plan to work on them! Until that's done, updates will be rather slow, and quite like the following chapters. This is mostly filler fluff. Longer than normal, but I figured if you're still reading this after two years, or if you're new to it, six thousand words ain't nothin'! (Really, it isn't. Not much happens. O.O)

Another also. Since the last time I started this, I picked up the comics again. I now know more about Gambit and Rogue than I had way back when I first read the comics. I have also found I harbor a minor not-weird-I-swear-crush on Colossus, as well. I'm sorry if you don't like him, but I think he may be peeking in this story more often.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. Well, I finally own a (barely) functioning car. Even the city and the name of the power plant mentioned don't belong to me. I borrowed them from real life.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Remy turned back to Rogue as the waitress sashayed off. She was giving him a large, doleful expression, the kind that could lead him into so much trouble to wipe it away.

"What's wrong, Chére?" he asked, desperately hoping her lower lip didn't start to tremble.

"You were flirting with her," she said simply, green eyes wide and shaming puppies everywhere.

"Just happens," he mumbled with a guilty wince. "Some habits are hard to break."

"But I'm jealous!" she exclaimed bluntly, now at that stage of intoxication where honesty really _was_ the best policy, no matter how embarrassing it may be in the sober light of day. "The only successful flirting I've _ever_ done was earlier today, and that doesn't count!"

He stared at her for a split second, disbelieving that she couldn't flirt. "You wouldn't have to try very hard."

She snorted inelegantly as she took another sip of her girly drink. "Teach me, then."

His own drink nearly escaped through his nose, and he had to cough back the burning sensation in his sinuses. "You're drunk," he accused.

"Please, I've only had three."

"Workin' on your fourth, and that don't include what you had before we sat down," he pointed out. "And you're a light weight. Not used to heavy lifting just yet."

Rogue pouted petulantly at him, staring at him again with those wide green eyes, slightly glassy from alcohol.

"That's not gonna work, I'm immune to that look," Remy lied, hoping she didn't notice that his gaze was directed two inches to her left. "Ask me again when you're sober, then we'll see."

When she suddenly slammed her glass on the table and stood up, he was prepared for the worse; angry storming off, yelling, the rest of said drink dumped over his head. However, he _wasn't_ expecting what she _actually_ did, so he couldn't really be blamed when his brain completely short circuited as she swung a leg over him and settled in his lap. His last conscious thought for a good long while as he became nearly completely surrounded by warm soft girl was 'thank God for armless chairs.'

Her gloved hands framed his face as she leaned in, their noses a hair's breadth apart, and he couldn't look anywhere _but_ her. As she bit her lower lip and peered at him with an intense concentration, what few thoughts he had left giddily ran off into naughty oblivion.

"Hah! I _knew_ it!" she proudly exclaimed after a few seconds, wobbling slightly as she leaned back. His hands came up to steady her by her hips. "You're lying, admit it."

"Uh-huh," came his less than brilliant reply.

"You _aren't_ immune to me, right?"

"Uh-huh."

Tilting her head to one side, and gosh how her hair draped so prettily, she seemed to consider him for a moment. "Will you buy me a pony?"

Pony? What was that? "Uh-huh."

Her answering smile bloomed slowly, shy and brilliant, and his heart jump started again only to ache from it. Bashfully, she buried her face in his shoulder, hair tickling his neck. "Silly goose."

And then, he heard her excited exclamation as the onion rings showed up, and he was suddenly a lot more chilly and feeling decidedly bereft. _Wait! What? No!_ Woefully, he stared at the space between his hands, where only moments ago there had been soft heat and gentle curves. With a blink and sharp shake of his head, his brain rebooted back to coherency, and then glared at the reason for the sudden vacancy on his lap.

It wasn't every day a woman left him for a plate of greasy food.

xxxxx

Kitty stared at the screen, rubbing her bleary eyes as she tried to force herself to stay awake. Oak Ridge appeared to be mostly shut down, with the exception of Y-12, the local nuclear plant. Following that had been a dead end, though, for every lead she had on the building where LeBeau had found led no where near the public organization. She had checked bank accounts, dummy organizations, even military contracts.

Ten minutes later, when her eyes began to cross and the logo on her laptop looked more like an animal than words, she closed the lid with a huff. She knew she would not be able to sleep until she got somewhere, but Kitty also knew that she would not be able concentrate any longer without some form of fuel. Being a law abiding citizen who balked at the idea of illegal substances or medication not prescribed specifically to her, that crossed amphetamines off the list. Fortunately, caffeine was always a sure back up.

Stretching as she went, the computer whiz worked the kinks out of a back that was years too young to be experiencing such sensation. The halls were mostly deserted at this time of night, so her trip to the kitchen was uneventful. She was so used to the silence and being alone that the sight of someone sitting at the counter caused her step to falter. It was _who_ that someone was that caused her heart to flutter.

Several years younger than him, Kitty had always assumed she had been invisible to Peter even though they had shared many of the same classes. It had been a language barrier that had held him back a few years, a barrier that he had overcome. Still, she found herself melting when he would stumble over a colloquialism, or slip in a word or Russian, and dear God she was as bad as those girls that swooned whenever he flung a 'da' their way. It was not until they both had graduated and started working for the X-Men that he began to ever so slowly open up. Whether due to being forced to work with her or a general disinterest she was not sure, she was not sure.

With a straightening of her spine and a composing breath, Kitty strode fully into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot. With not everyone obeying the laws of a normal circadian clock, the pot seemed never ending. Pouring herself a mug to the brim, she turned and tried for calm and collected. "Evening, Peter. Late night?"

The taller man looked up from his book and bowl of cereal. "It is not so late."

A glance at the clock showed that it was only after eleven. While not necessarily early, it was no where near the time she had believed it to be. Kitty groaned as she shuffled to sit beside him. "I'm getting old."

"Too much work," he corrected, tone amused and calm. "You spend too much time in front of computers, and too little sleeping."

Despite everyone knowing about her tendency to work too long, the fact that _he_ noticed caused the flutter to grow. "But I just _know_ that the answers I'm looking for are right there. I just got to keep looking."

He halted the cup on the way to her lips. He did not pull it away, or try to force it from her, just held it in place. She could easily move it out of the way if she wanted, he left that choice up to her. The feel of his warm fingers was nice, though, and she suddenly found she was not as desperate for caffeine as she had believed. "Perhaps it is something that will come with rested eyes, _da_?"

Kitty decided then and there that she was way worse than those giggling girls. She was just thankful she could clamp down on her own nearly irrepressible string of annoying titterings. "Perhaps. Maybe a little break _will_ clear my head."

He said nothing more, just smiled and resumed his reading.

On a daring whim, she leaned against his shoulder, looping his arm from his. All to get a better vantage of what he was doing, she told herself. "What are you reading?"

"I have English final coming." Though the muscles beneath her cheek stiffened momentarily, he did not push her away.

She recalled, during her nonstalkery pursuit of learning about him, that he took college courses when he could. There was no degree set that she knew of, he merely enjoyed learning what he could. "How's that going?"

Peter spoke in soft tones, colored by a thick accent, about how he still found little use for the word 'the,' and then proceeded on to explain the story he was currently 'reviewing.'

As she drifted off, snuggled against firm muscle and soft skin, Kitty was unaware that Peter got very little studying done. At least for his final.

xxxxx

Even the happy little noises she made as she ate was not enough to keep his mind from wandering back to where it had been at the diner. He wasn't sure what it was she'd said then that had caused him to remember. It wasn't that he'd forgotten, or never thought about it. When he was alone, it was one of the only things he could think of. When he was around her, though, he could almost manage to _forget._ She kept the memories at bay.

Thankfully, he wasn't experiencing the full, drawn out memories of times he'd spent in stifling cells and eternal boredom, or the graphically detailed nightmares of numerous 'tests' done by faceless doctors that had him on the verge of screaming himself awake. Instead, he could think about everything in an almost detached sense, more a spectator than an actual participant.

It wasn't as though he'd experienced the worst tortures known to man. There had been those in the concentration camps of World War Two that had experienced horrors beyond even what he could imagine. He supposed that his unique abilities were something he should be grateful for, for at times he was certain that it was that fact that had kept those faceless bastards from doing anything fatal to him, unlike the others he'd been kept with.

Then again, if he had never possessed his bio-kinetic ability he probably would have spent the last twenty years actually living instead of being a modern time Rip Van Winkle.

As it was, he couldn't really be all that surprised that his sudden influx in power had attracted unwanted attention. When he'd escaped from Three Mile Island and the effects of their tender mercies had faded, he'd assumed that he'd just been readjusting to his abilities again. That was, of course, until a small charge meant to light the end of a cigarette had instead gutted his apartment in an explosive magenta glow.

Fortunately for him, he had been next to a window, and the conveniently placed pool below had extinguished any flames before they could do irreparable damage, and that the complex's insurance company had blamed it on faulty wiring and a gas leak.

It had been highly _unfortunate_ that such a fiasco had drawn media attention, and that his name had been splashed across newspapers everywhere in a forty mile radius. He'd had enough of a head start to get him half way around the world and meet a young white-haired girl before being ambushed.

If he thought what had happened on the island had been bad, what had gone down in the outskirts of a small Tennessee town had proven him wrong.

There had been tests. And experiments. And no matter how many times he'd tell them that they had _nothing _to do with bio-kinetics, they just wouldn't leave his fucking eyes _alone._

"You're doing it again, Sugar."

The softly slurred words were too close to his ear, and if not for the feel of the damp glass clutched too tightly in his hands, he would have leaped back, ready to attack. As it was, he flinched under the weight he hadn't realized was resting heavily against his shoulder.

"Doing what?" he asked, calmly as he could, turning to look in the eyes that were a shade too bright.

"Zoning," she stage whispered. He wondered if maybe she'd had a few too many, because sober, she would never prop her arms on his shoulder, or rest her face so close to his bare skin. "You did it at the diner, too."

"I wasn't zoning," he lied, taking a sip of his now watery drink.

"Were too!" she protested, a bit too loudly, as she sat back with a huff and an accusing glare. "I could have leaped on the table and danced _naked_ and you wouldn't have even noticed!"

A choke and a splutter, and he discovered the hard way that his sinuses did not like alcohol singing through them. A few people around them snickered as Remy tried – at least a little – not to picture the very pleasant scene she had painted in his mind.

"And _you,_" he declared, pulling her drink away from her greedy fingers. "Are officially cut off."

"Hey!" she yipped as she stretched her arms and body across the table toward the glass. "I wouldn't _actually_ do that!"

He snorted, but slid the glass back to her. "Fine, but I'm not gonna hold your hair back later."

"I have a stomach of steel. And you so would."

She was right about that, so he didn't say anything one way or the other. "Are you sure you don't know how to flirt?"

"Darn sure," she stated happily. "Wouldn't know if my life depended on it. And I wouldn't know if someone were hittin' on me. Someone could say 'Hey, guess what! I'm hitting on you!' and I _still_ wouldn't know."

Now _that_ he could believe. While flirting was just a natural occurrence with him – more so with her – she seemed oblivious to his comments. That, or she misinterpreted what he was saying altogether. It was both frustrating and fun.

"Now quit distractin' me. Why you zoning'?"

With a sigh, he wondered how he should answer. Of course, coming right out with the truth had never been his style, and he wasn't about to change that for a pretty girl with glassy green eyes. "Just thinking."

"Whatever you were 'just thinking' about seemed as fun as getting your teeth pulled without Novocain. Guess that means I saved you."

"Guess it does," he agreed, reaching over to brush that stubborn strand of hair that kept taunting him all day carefully behind her ear. "Thanks."

Remy realized that it had been the first time that he'd actually said that to her. He also realized that he was becoming more soft with her than he had with anyone in a long while.

Maybe _he'd_ been the one to drink too much.

"It's close to midnight. We should probably get you to bed before you turn into a pumpkin."

Her tongue stuck out at him. "That's for girls with glass slippers and believe mice can talk. I'm not tired."

"I can see that," he laughed as she tried to hide a yawn. "But we've had a long day, and drinking can make you sleepy."

"Fine," she huffed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "But only if you do, too. I don't wanna be dragging around a half-unconscious guy around the boardwalk tomorrow. People will talk."

What was it with women only agreeing to sleep if he did, as well? First Stormy, and now Rogue. He wondered if his sleeplessness was so apparent that even a drunk girl could notice. "Deal."

After paying the tab and tipping their waitress, he led Rogue out of the casino and into the night. This act was much like trying to herd a group of kittens; she zigzagged more than walked, and she kept straying away to anything that caught her eye. Finally, after she wandered over to a bus stop bench to read an ad for a television show she liked, he tucked her beneath his arm.

"Good thing you can't fly," he teased. "We'd need a rope to keep you in one place."

Her little nose wrinkled at that. "Don't think I'd wanna fly. I don't know where the 'no fly' zones are."

The hotel was only a few blocks away, and she'd allowed him to keep his arm where it was until they reached her door. They had declined the suite, accepting instead for the casino to cover most of the bill for the hotel they were staying at. The trip was far too short, especially since he doubted she would let him close like this again while sober.

"Take some ibuprofen before going to bed," he told her. "It'll help the hangover."

She nodded absently, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration as she trued to get the key card into the lock, and he wondered if she'd even heard him.

"You need me, I'll be right down the hall," he continued, suddenly nervous. He hadn't walked a woman to her door without something happening for longer than he could remember. What did he do now? Hug her? Leave?

Rogue gave a small victory cry as the light flashed green and she pushed the door open. Turning, she leaned against the wood frame and gave him a sleepy smile. "Night, Remy."

"Night," he responded, still floundering. If anyone he knew from before saw him now, they'd probably laugh at his sudden case of nerves. Of course, knowing his family's line of work, the only people's reactions he'd care about were either dead or too senile to remember him.

"No sneaking off to the casino again. You promised."

Her eyes looked so large then, almost half afraid he would break a simple promise to get some sleep, that he had to smile. Impulsively, he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head. "I won't."

He left to the sound of her door closing, knowing that while he would go to bed, as promised, it would be a long while before his mind allowed him to actually sleep.

A part of him was afraid that when he woke up, he would discover that all this, that Rogue, would all have been a dream, and he'd still be in a cell waiting to be carted off to yet another lab, with more tests. And the fear that this was not real was greater than that of the nightmares.

xxxxx

After five in the afternoon, much of the city's work ended for the day. Men and women went home to their families or empty apartments, all content with a mediocre existence that began and ended with them. Many would take part in the night activities that the city offered, most legal, some not. However, for one relocated family, night time was when their work truly began.

The leader sat behind a desk, impressive by ordinary standards yet lacking the elegance he craved to have once again, was busy filling out the necessary paperwork to shuffle money from one account to another. Rebuilding a city was hard work, the expenses great, even when the iconic New Orleans had the support of most of the country. Still, he figured it was a worthwhile investment. After all, once his home flourished as it had before disaster struck, they could all return and collect their contributions with interest.

The loud slam the door made as it violently struck the wall would have made any other man jump and ruin the ledger with errant ink. He merely finished his line before looking up, not hiding his irritation at the rude intruder.

"What is it, Travis?" The younger man – more of a boy really – stared at him, face pale and eyes wide. Normally there would be no shutting this boy up, so his sudden shift in demeanor was cause for alarm. "Sit down, relax. Whatever happened, you're safe now."

That was one of the few assurances the boss could make. While he could promise no one fame or fortune, especially here where everything aside from considerably paltry pay was being funneled elsewhere, he could at least offer the promise of sanctuary.

Travis shook his head even as he took a seat. "No, Sir, it's...nothing's wrong, and I'm not one-hundred percent sure, but I just... you have to... I don't know..." Then he stopped talking, and instead pulled a camera from his pocket. It was digital, but cheap, a testament to how stretched their funds had become.

Before the boss could express his exasperation, Travis was out of his seat, ignoring all decorum to kneel beside the fake leather chair. "I can't be sure, but I'm nearly positive."

All thoughts of berating his employee fled when he caught what was on the view finder. Zooming in, the subject was enraptured by a woman on his lap. It was the only way this man could have been caught on film unawares. That is, of course, if the man in the picture was who he thought it was.

With fierce determination, he forced down the hope that threatened to choke him. "Follow de boy. Make sure it's him."

"What if it is, Sir?"

For Jean-Luc, the years and certainty that the young man in the picture was either dead or misplaced had tempered any resentment toward his wayward son and replaced it an ember of remorse. "Den I go say hi."

xxxxx

Undressing and then dressing again for bed when not-drunk-maybe-slightly-inebriated, it seemed, took immense skill and greater concentration. Her fingers were nearly numb, making buttoning and unbuttoning a feat in of itself. Limbs were both stone heavy and feather light, exaggerating her movements, and what had been intended as a casual fling of her top sent the thing sailing across the room to land draped over a lamp.

Then, of course, she had stared off into space for a good thirty seconds, clad only in her underwear, trying to remember what the heck she'd been doing, and what came next.

Finally, though, she was safely in her flannel pajamas, and after a moment to take the ibuprofen as Remy had suggested, and barely had the mind to brush her teeth, Rogue all but dove face-first into her pillow. After finding a relatively comfortable position – which was only to shift slightly so she wouldn't asphyxiate, not really caring that her lower legs dangled over the edge of the bed – she was asleep instantly.

"_Subject holds infinite potential for kinetically charged explosions."_

_A gurney, a cell. Bright lights. Injections. Disjointed voices floating, monotonous and clinical._

"_Recovered files show promise for perfect candidate for Project Warhead."_

_Body frozen, numb; mind screaming, agony._

_Tests. Eyes, skin, eyes, brain, skin, eyes, hair, skin, eyes._

"_Two damn years I been in that hellhole." An ally, a crunch to the nose._

_Different men, same tests, same evils._

_Red on black, brown on white, devil, human._

_Not the eyes, power's in the skin, they won't listen, keep messing with his damn eyes._

"_Change in power. Change in funds, Keep him alive, too valuable. Kill the others."_

_A glass tomb, suffocation. Long sleep, no rest._

_A girl. Sweet smile, viper tongue. Salvation._

_Don't sleep. Don't want the girl to be a dream, the nightmares reality._

_Scalpel, centimeters above his eye. Coming closer. Held down by straps and cuffs and an oversized meaty paw of a hand._

"_I ain't never goin' back."_

For one long, terrifying moment, as she bolted upright in a tangled mess of sheets, Rogue wasn't sure who or where she was. Then, as her breathing slowed and the dream (_nightmare_) faded just enough, her eyes were able to focus on the chaos of strewn clothing.

The dream (_nightmare!_) confused her. Even after nearly draining Logan on top of the Statue of Liberty, she hadn't experience anything quite that intense. And the contact with Remy had been so brief, nonexistent in comparison.

So of course, it couldn't be a dream made up from Remy's memories. Perhaps a few flashes had been real, but the rest must have been the result of her wine indulgence mingled with her curiosity of what _had_ happened. And of course, her brain had chosen a worse-case scenario.

"I am _never_ drinking again," she vowed to the alarm clock.

Which, according to that, she'd only been asleep for five hours. A good three hours too few, if one were to ask her. Unfortunately, her pulse was still hammering, her fingers still shaking, and she was way too keyed up with adrenaline to go back to sleep _now._ And even though she knew the dream couldn't _possibly_ be real - because if it _had _been, she would probably cry, or become overly protective of him, or find the bastards who and make them cry, or a combination of all three – a part of her couldn't help but be worried. Was he okay? Still in his room? Or had he somehow managed to get himself in trouble in the few hours they'd been apart?

Unbidden, like one of those old fifties cartoons, she imagined him trussed above a vat of boiling oil as an evil government agent gave a diabolical laugh and a twist of the mustache.

As absurd as that little scenario was, it sent her running to the door, habit more than conscious thought finding her with her gloves on. She had to double back for his spare room key, but then she was out the door and down the hall. It wasn't until she reached his door that she realized just how utterly irrational she was being. But then, it was better to be insane and safe than logical and sorry.

_Just a peek,_ she told herself. _Just a peek to make sure he's _not_ dangling, then go back to bed._

Silently, she snuck into his room, because odds were he really _was_ only sleeping, and she'd feel terrible if she interrupted pleasant dreams with her paranoia.

A deep sigh of relief that she felt from her toes escaped her lungs as she saw him on the bed, wrapped in sheets. He didn't seem to be sleeping peacefully though, if the slight jerks of his body and scrunched eyebrows were any indication.

"Damn it," she muttered, torn. On the one hand, she didn't want to leave him to his nightmares. On the other, the last time she had woken a man she'd just barely met from frightening dreams, she'd been skewered through. While Remy didn't have sharp pointy things that came out of his knuckles, he _was_ a one-man firework show.

After a moment, as he started to toss more and become more agitated, she made up her mind to wake him, fear of explosions be damned.

"Remy," she hissed loudly, kneeling beside him, shaking him by the shoulder. "Come on, wake up, you aggravating brat."

It wasn't until she ran her thumb over the creases between his eyebrows, wanting to at least smooth them out before she left, that he woke up. Or at least, partially. Suddenly, he was bolt-right up in bed, eyes blazing a fierce crimson in the dark, her wrists caught in the steely vices of his hands. Then after a second, where he blinked at her, unseeing, he collapsed back onto the mattress. However, she discovered then that her Cajun friend had very _fast_ hands. Once instant she was locked in his bruising grasp, and the next she was flailing ungracefully as he fell, for somehow he caught her in a trap of arms faster than she would have thought possible.

So, here she was, sprawled across a sleeping man. Really, of all the books she'd read, this hadn't been exactly what she'd been thinking of.

Rogue tried to get free, struggled in an embrace that wasn't bruising, but firm. Had the circumstances been different, had she not still been too keyed up by her dream, had she found she could actually touch people without fear, she would have found the situation to be quite nice. However, with her face only a few precarious inches from his neck, it was rather quite nerve wracking instead.

Propping her head up on one hand and tapping her gloved fingers against his shoulder in thought, she thought about the best way to get out of this situation. Did she try to do so without waking him up, saving the both of them from unnecessary embarrassment? Or did she ignore that possibility and wake him up the best way she knew how?

Right. Possible embarrassment it was.

"Let _go_ of me, you no good excuse for Louisiana pond scum!" A solid thump of her palm against his shoulder assured that, if nothing else, he would wake up sore in the morning.

"Ow!" he exclaimed as he opened his eyes again, this time clear and awake. He blinked up at her in confusion. "What y' doin' here, Chére?"

She ignored the gravel his voice had when half asleep, or the slight thickening of an accent. (Really, did he consciously try to cover that up, or had it been lost over time?) Instead, she focused on her annoyance. "Trying to wake your ungrateful ass from bad dreams."

"Hmm," he mused thoughtfully, peering at her through half-lidded eyes. "Good for you, Roguey. I'm awake. Dis were a dream, dere'd be more lacey corsets and silk stocking."

Roguey? Corsets? _Stockings?_ Here she was, worried out of her mind, and all he could do, not moments after waking up, was piss her off.

"Get your filthy paws _offa_ me," she growled as she began to thrash, wriggling around to find a weakness in his grip, intent on escape. Her sudden movement seemed to take him by surprise, if the sudden sharp intake of breath and tightening of his arms were any indication.

She finally became free as her elbow jabbed him in the throat. Unlike the other timed she'd whacked him, this was purely accidental. That minor detail didn't make that strange squeak he made any less enjoyable, though.

"Evil woman," he accused her after a brief coughing fit. "I'm gonna wake up bruised and beaten, and _then_ who will keep you company while I recover?"

"It was an accident," she primly informed him as she reached a safe distance from his dangerous arms, ignoring the sudden chill of the room. Her legs folded beneath her as she sat on the edge of the opposite of the bed. "I'd have chosen a different target soon enough, if you hadn't let me go."

"Accident, right," he scoffed as he shifted to rest against the faux wood head board. "Just like the other times you've abused me, I'm sure."

"Abuse? Hardly. Those were deserved strikes of retribution. And they weren't accidents."

"Evil _and_ cruel," he amended before casting a more appreciative gaze over her, making her feel as exposed as if she _were_ wearing a corset and stockings. "So why the otherwise… _pleasant_ wake up call?"

Rogue cleared her throat unsteadily, hand fluttering up to pull the fully buttoned pajama top even more firmly closed. With his blatant appraisal and the reminder of why she was there, she felt more exposed than she really was. Of course, she couldn't exactly come out and say 'I had a dream where you were being tested like a lab rat, which was most likely the combination of an overactive imagination and too much booze, and I couldn't go back to sleep because old villain cartoons kept running through my head.' A part of her was afraid to discover that her imagination wasn't quite as overactive as she thought.

"Crazy dreams where you kept getting yourself into trouble," she said instead. "Just wanted to make sure you managed to stay safe in the few hours since I last saw you."

"Dreaming of me already," he admonished with a cluck of his tongue, earning him a face full of pillow. "What? Suppose it can't be helped. I'm very pretty and dream-worthy."

"You're also about as humble as a peacock," she shot back with a bark of laughter.

"Very pretty, the boy ones," Remy agreed. "Is a burden we both share."

Rolling her eyes, she slid off the mattress. "Since you're all fine and dandy, I'll let your pretty, vain self get back to your beauty sleep."

She barely took half a step, not even fully turned around, when she felt his hand clasp around her wrist. She hadn't even heard the bed squeak.

Rogue stiffened, acutely aware of just how close his bare fingers were to the skin of her forearm. She fought the instinct to pull away, afraid of shifting her glove to where they would come in dangerous contact. Keeping her arm impossibly still, she glared back at him. "What?"

Aside from a brief flicker of something that could easily be mistaken for distress, his expression was unreadable.

"How's your head?" he asked after a moment.

"Its fine, thank you." She gave an experimental tug of her hand, which didn't result in freedom. "Although I highly doubt I'll be doing it again for awhile."

"That's too bad. You're kinda cute when you're drunk. Like a cuddly puppy."

Scowling, she yanked her hand free and perched it on her hip. "I do _not_ cuddle." Which, of course, was a blatant lie. She felt her cheeks burn as she recalled some of the things she'd said and done.

"You're right. You just hop on bar tables and dance like a wild woman. Don't worry, I got you down before you started stripping.

She gaped at him, running through her inebriated evening. She hadn't drunk so much that she'd blacked out, had she? Surely not. Only enough to lower her inhibitions slightly, maybe, but clearly not enough to do _that!_ She would remember!

Right?

"I-I-" she stuttered helplessly, suddenly unsure. "Did I really?"

"No."

Brief relief swept through her, swiftly replaced by the now familiar annoyance. This time, though, she barely managed to suppress the urge to pummel him. It only seemed to encourage him.

"Y-you," she spluttered, floundering and failing for a decent comeback, saying the first thing that came to mind instead. "Are _so_ grounded!"

"Oh, never been grounded before." He twisted so that he was completely across the width of the bed, sprawled on his stomach, tilting his head against the palm of his hand so that he was looking up at her through stubborn bangs. "This mean I hafta go to your room, then?"

_Don't kill him, Marie,_ she firmly ordered herself. _There'd be too much paperwork involved._

"Was there anything else, or did you just want to harass me about my nonexistent drunken escapades?" It was almost too easy to glare imperiously down her nose at him, arms crossing defiantly over his chest.

"No," he admitted with a lazy swing of a foot through the air. How he managed to go from indecently flirtation to deceivingly innocent the next was beyond her. "You goin' back to bed?"

The thought of more nightmares made her shudder. "No, probably just gonna watch TV for awhile."

"You can kill two birds with one stone, so the saying goes." At her blank look, he elaborated. "I can sleep through a nuclear explosion, and you won't have to keep racin' back here every time you think I've gotten into great, unimaginable peril."

"You want me. To stay here. With you. While you sleep."

"Sure. I trust you not to take advantage of my unconscious self."

Really, she should be used to this by now, and _not_ blushing twenty shades of red as indignation filled her. "I would sooner poke a rattlesnake with a hornets' nest!"

"So you _would_ wake me up first. I knew you were too kind, Chére." He moved once again to lounge lengthwise on the mattress, moving with more grace and silence than any man really should be capable of. "It's okay if you don't wanna stay, though. I'd be tempted to do naughty things to this body, too."

Narrowing her eyes at his challenge, she stole both of his pillows and marched right over to the chair beside the bed and forcefully snatched up the remote, refusing to even glance at the exhausting man beside her. She knew he did it on purpose, rile her up and leave her in a confused tizzy. That didn't stop her from wondering why he did it, or from reacting.

"Not gonna tuck me in?" Once again, he was met with a face full of pillow.

She wondered why he didn't just pull her pigtails. Or if he would, if she wore them.

"Just don't watch the porn channel," he warned her severely. "Well, you can, just wake me up for the good parts."

"Go to sleep before I rip your spleen out through your nose!" _Porn!_ Of all the indecency! To think she would actually watch that stuff when someone else was around! Or at all, really. Or… well… oh, darn him to Hades for making her so flustered she could hardly think straight!

Of course, his only response was to chuckle, but afterward he did, blissfully, fall silent.

Rogue shifted down in the chair, finding a comfortable spot to curl into with her stolen pillow, and flipped to the SciFi channel. Normally, she wasn't much of a fan of science fiction, but there was likely to be a B rated film with bad special effects and worse acting that would dull her brain to mush.

After ten minutes of actual silence, she turned toward him. He wasn't asleep yet, but wasn't quite fully awake. He was watching her through a heavily blinking eye, arms wrapped around his pillow as he lay on his stomach (how the heck did he _move_ so _silently?_ ), and he flashed her a sleepy boyish grin when he realized she was looking in his direction.

And of course, her aggravation melted. Apparently, he could go from annoying as hell to adorable in the blink of an eye, as well. "Good night, Remy," she said softly as she turned back to the TV.

"Night, Roguey."

She was far too comfortable to get up and maim him at that moment, and most of her didn't really want to, anyway.

Rogue fell asleep sometime after the genetically mutated wombat ate the scientist, slowly tumbling into much more pleasant dreams involving her new – if not absolutely frustrating - friend.

-end Chapter Five

* * *

_Um... ummmm... I used to write stuff here. Did I mention nothing really happened in this chapter?_


	7. Impractical Jokes

I have come to the conclusion that, while I still don't know for certain where this is going, I shall add bits and pieces here and there for what I DO know is going to happen. The Bad Guys are slowly sketching themselves out in my brain. In fact, I think Head Bad Guy will be modeled on someone I used to work with. In my mind, he was a perfect bad guy. And a down right buttmunch.

However, to avoid further stalling (Two YEARS is a long enough stall on this story...) I have decided that if I have nothing really plot worthy to include in a chapter, there will be continual flirtation. Lots and lots of flirtation. Perhaps some inner monologuing as well.

And I must say. Seeing familiar names in reviews gave me warm fuzzies! Seeing new ones set me aglow! Thank you to my old readers for the patience and the encouragement to continue (and for not bludgeoning me for my absence) and to the new people who are just now tuning in.

And I have good news! **Sassyx22x** took my sorry behind back! (sniffles) I don't even have to sleep on the couch or anything! (...Um. This is a sort of analogy. There's no real...what I mean is...you see... ah, you know what I mean!)

And, since it has been two years, a recap! (I should have done this last time, but I wasn't thinking about that...)

**Previously on Overture** _(Not necessarily in order)_**: **Rogue finds Remy in stasis, Remy blows up stasis, Rogue drags Remy back to New York and it annoys Logan, Remy is introduced to Bobby and Kitty and is reintroduced to Storm, Bobby's mommy loves him, Kitty and Piotr flirt, Remy drags Rogue to Atlantic City and it annoys Logan, Remy's afraid of Rogue's GPS and he touches Rogue, Rogue hits on a girl gas clerk, they eat at a diner, they gamble, Remy plays poker, Rogue gets hit on by a skeevy old drunk man, Rogue wins at the slot machines, skeevy old drunk man is not drunk and is working for someone, Rogue gets drunk and flirts with Remy, Jean Luc is clued in that his son may still be alive, Rogue has nightmares that she thinks may or may not be the product of her drunken overactive imagination, Remy pictures her in lace, and then Rogue falls asleep in his chair.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone or anything here. If I get details wrong about a city or events that actually exist, assume I know what I'm doing and that its an altered state of reality. Its either that or realizing I'm too lazy to do actual research, and that just would not do!

This chapter is brought to you by Essay Procrastination.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The underground compound clearly had not seen much activity in nearly two decades. That was, much to Sergeant Stewart Michaels' dismay, almost as long as he had been alive.

"I don't mean to be a pain in the ass, but why were we told do sort through this crap again?" Specialist Courtney Morgan nudged a piece of fallen debris with her boot before poking at it with the tip of her M-16. "And in full combat gear, no less? It's hotter than hell down here."

Though older, and had been in the service longer than he had, Morgan had the leadership skills of a pack animal. (Her words, not his.) She had been a specialist when he had joined the unit as a measly E-2, a young fresh private straight from boot camp and AIT. While his fellow classmates had graduated as E-3s or higher, he had a problem with following command and had gotten into some trouble, and demotions, because of it. It was Morgan who had set him straight, with more than one slap on the back of the head and doleful glare, and while he would tear a new one into most of his other soldiers, he gave her leeway. She complained more than was necessary, mostly to him, yet always did what was asked of her.

"Those were the orders," he answered with a shrug and a roll of the eyes.

"Yeah but we're _techs._ We're supposed to do _tech_ work. Or enhance our janitorial skills. Not lurk down in basements like a bunch of...not tech people."

"They could have sent in a bunch of grunts, but you know as well as I do that most of them couldn't tell the difference between a flash drive and flashing BIOS. If they ran across any sort of technological marvel down here, they'd be more likely to throw it in the trash than salvage it."

Reaching down to the ground, Morgan held up an antiquated power supply. "We've hit the mother load of technological marvels. I think this one's from the Paleolithic era."

"Cute." Shaking his head, Michaels began to sort through the forty-seventh pile since they had started yesterday. Most of it was trash and debris, which went in the the thick trash bag, but on occasion they would find a microchip here or a power converter there that went in the wheelbarrow. Since there were only the two of them, they had been given a week to carefully sort and catalog their finds. Yesterday, they had worked until after five, then sorted through their finds at the hotel within the city limits. The morning had started at five at the mobile arms room and little time for breakfast. What kind of McDonalds opened after six in the morning, anyway?

One good thing about being contracted out were the hotels. Morgan had more than once beamed over the cookies, and he had to drag her away from the defenseless counter clerk who was unused to receiving puppy eyes from someone in a military uniform.

Several minutes passed, Morgan blissfully silent, and Michaels began to wish that he had brought his iPod yet again. Or at least a portable CD player. The only sounds down here were their echoing voices and the various creeks and groans of an aged building. The former he could handle. It was the latter that was beginning to creep him out and made him wish he had not spent the entire previous weekend watching reruns of The X-Files.

"Oh! Look what I found!" Morgan held something up in her hand, looking at it with a beaming face and mischievous eyes.

On closer inspection, he saw that it was a key card. "Don't even think about it, Morgan."

"This isn't against _any_ rules, Sergeant," she began, addressing him by rank as a way to show she was being a 'good soldier.' With devious intentions. "They only told us that they had no keys to the other rooms, and at absolutely no time was it hinted that any place down here was off limits. If there were any restricted areas down here, would it not be safe to assume that they would have made it very clear which areas we were to avoid? You saw the debrief, this was never a nuclear storage facility, so any supplies of that nature which would have been down here would have been, as per regulation _and_ law, disposed of immediately after use."

"...You used to rifle through your parents' safe at home, didn't you?"

Her eyes blazed with indignation. "That would be an invasion of privacy! A betrayal of my parents' trust! To think that I ever looked in there is absolutely appalling!"

"You never found the combination, did you?"

"I searched for years for that damn thing. They hid it good."

Michaels considered the door that had stood since they got there, mocking them both with its locks and security measures. On the one hand, what she said was truth. There had not been anything about unauthorized access. On the other, he knew that not all facilities followed law _or_ code.

"Fine, we can try it. But if it doesn't open, we forget all about this and go back to work."

Morgan set off at a gleeful skip, swiping the card through the reader. Michaels felt a rush of resignation when the light dimly flashed green and a low dying buzz thunked the lock open.

He followed her through the dark door. The adjoining room was pitch dark, and the illumination from Morgan's shaking flashlight barely cut through the void. He patted the wall, searching for the switch similar to that in the previous room. He slid against the wall, cursing as his foot banged sharply against something hard.

Michaels found the switch, and with a noise of victory he pushed the lever up. Electricity hummed through the lights, warming them up after years of being dormant.

"Don't." Morgan's voice was unusually tight. Too late, the lights flickered on, and he saw why.

Row after row, countless cylinders rose from floor to ceiling. In each one of them were beings that had once been alive, and obviously not homo-sapien. The one that Morgan was staring at, her flashlight still shaking in her hand, once had a face similar to that of a large fly. Or horse. It was hard to tell with that extent of mummification.

"This is not what I signed up for." The old quip, often used in situations where they felt like dogs being pitted against unknown forces or general slave labor, was the only true thing he could think of. With gentle hands, he tried to guide Morgan away. "Lets go back."

He recognized the look in her eye. It was the same she got during their one tour, when mortars were flying and she was not sure where they landed or if they hit anyone. She would get desperate soon, nearly frantic, and he had to stop it now. "_Morgan._ Come _on._ That's an _order._"

Eyes wide, she stared blankly at him for a moment before nodding. Clutching his sleeve, she allowed him to lead them both back into the other room.

"What...what are we going to do?"

"_We _aren't gonna do anything. Don't tell a damn soul what you saw. Just leave it to me." He didn't know how, but he knew that whoever contracted them did not want this to be common knowledge.

He shut the light off and closed the door tight behind them, tossing the key card into the pile of trash.

xxxxx

Glancing at his watch for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, Remy let out an exasperated breath as his foot jiggled impatiently on the floor. How long did it take someone to get ready to go to the Boardwalk? He had been ready in ten minutes, and that was with him taking his own sweet time. There was nothing on the television that could hold his interest long. News confused him with reports on events he couldn't even begin to understand, and the talk shows all rehashed old crises in new packaging.

He had snuck into her room, which she had escaped to shortly after she had woken up, with a copy of her room's key card. She had insisted it would be best if they each had one for the other ones room, in case one was lost on their sight seeing. With anyone else, he would have taken it as an invitation for something more. With her, he could do nothing but take it at face value.

Another glance at his watch showed that only a minute had passed since the last time he looked. He was at the bathroom door in seconds. "You gonna be done any time soon, Chére? You've been in there for at least two years now."

There was a muffled yelp and a thunk of something small striking tile. He winced at the following silence, counting down the acceptable seconds where bursting in on her in all her glory out of concern would be acceptable. Before he could, the door opened a crack, and he was greeted by the frostiest green eyes he'd ever seen.

"I didn't give you a key so you could give me a heart attack." Her voice growled low as his chest was accosted by repeated jabs from the handle of her brush. "And if you interrupt again, I will take twice as long just to make you miserable. Now go sit down, watch Oprah, and _shush!_" The door was mere centimeters from Remy's face as the resounding slam reverberated through the small room.

There should have been an iota of fear fluttering through him then. At the very least, annoyance. Instead, Remy felt an irrational sense of glee as his broad grin beamed at the closed door. The feeling remained as he dove on her bed and stole the remote, flipping through the channels. He never made it to Oprah. Instead, Bob Barker's voice caught his attention, and he stared at the screen, flabbergasted, for several moments.

The only way he knew for certain that this wasn't a repeat was the newer model car being displayed by a bikini clad model.

Remy had been certain that the game show host had been ancient back when the man had first started hosting the show. Aside from a few more lines and a bit more grey, the man was exactly the same.

He sat on her bed, pillow clutched to his chest and eyes glued to the television, until Rogue finally emerged from the bathroom. "How is this possible?"

"What's that, Sugar?" Her voice held none of the hostility from earlier.

Remy barely noticed, to focused on the price guessing game that he was twenty years behind to begin guessing correctly. Instead, he pointed at the screen as the crowd cheered the contestant on. "He was on back then."

"Oh him," she responded with only mild surprise. "He's been around forever. I think he's retiring, though. Or has. Hiatus? I don't keep up."

Rogue fluttered around the bed, ignoring his presence as she continued to get ready. Her earrings were on one nightstand, necklace on the other, and Remy was certain she could minimalize all her rushing around if she would just climb on the bed behind him. He did not bring this up, instead pretended to focus on the television and the ageless game show host, for when she breezed past him, the air left in her wake carried a fresh clean scent that he was not sure could be sufficiently bottled. Or perhaps it was, or most of it, but the combination of her unique blend of soaps and shampoo along with what was undoubtedly just Rogue's chemical makeup would have left chemists confused as to how they would go about recreating this specific flavor for the olfactory sense. Odds were, too, that he was merely biased. He accepted this mental assumption of his wholeheartedly and without reservation.

He was so caught up in his musing that it took him longer than it should have to realize that she was standing in front of him and had been for a while. Casually as he could, he met her gaze. "See somethin' you like, Chére?"

Rogue snorted and rolled her eyes. "Just wondering how long you're gonna just sit there."

Remy noticed small things, tiny tells, that told she was holding back from asking something she was not sure she wanted to know. "'Bout as long as it takes you to tell me what's wrong, I s'pose."

"I was just wondering why you're planning on wearing this," her hands grabbed the lapels of his coat, the same duster she had found for him at the compound. "It's got to be at least three-hundred degrees outside. Seriously, Remy, you're gonna pass out from heat exhaustion!"

It was his turn to snort. "I wore more in the summers of New Orleans."

"Yeah, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth and you clubbed girls over the head and dragged them back to your cave." Tugging at his coat, she ignored his indignant squawk, trying to tug the heavy material from his shoulders.

He struggled to keep the coat in place, forced to leave the safety of the bed in an attempt to use his few extra inches to his advantage. "I'll have you know that not once did I have to club anyone. They call came willingly."

"Yes, I bet they just swooned at the shiny new coat on your Acrocanthosaurus." Her tricky little hands crept beneath the coat, rising up to hook the material for better leverage. The shock of her fingers surprised him as his skin twitched beneath his shirt.

Before she could blink, he trapped a wrist with his hand and hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough to trap her other hand between them. "You needa work on your distractin' techniques." Rogue's eyes were wide. Not in a way he liked, more that of a cornered animal. "And contrary to what you youngin's think these days, the seventies really weren't all that long ago."

"So instead of dinosaurs, you had to walk uphill both ways, ten feet of snow with the sun on your back, just to get to school?"

"Nah, that was Papa. I did twice that just for lunch." Taking pity on her discomfiture, he spun her in a little mock dance until she was within her comfort zone once more. He kept a firm grip on her wrist. "About the coat. Let's just say I think its unfair if I walk around all comfy like if you're stuck with sweaty fingers." Though only half truth, there was still truth to his statement.

Though the clothes she wore were thin and loose, there was still so little skin showing. Technically it was a preferred way to dress in the heat, as the skin was protected, but she would not be too comfortable.

It was more, though. He actually _liked_ the coat. It was brimming with nifty little pockets, each begging to be filled with as of yet unknown treasures and baubles. The fun would be deciding whether or not to heed their call with her around, and if he did, how long it would be before she noticed. That she was the one who had given it to him, though not with the intention as a gift, made it just that much more awesome.

"Fine. Keep the coat. But I ain't dragging your ass back here if you faint." Her hand caught by his twiddled with the cuff of his coat. They both knew she could break free any time she wanted, but to his delight she didn't. That either meant she was steadily becoming more comfortable with him, or what was bothering her was greater than any discomfort his grip caused.

"Again, Chére, the distraction didn't work. What's wrong?"

She was silent for a moment, worrying her lower lip with her teeth before she would look at him again. "I know I asked already, but you were half asleep. And I'm probably being silly here, but I just never do that." Rogue suddenly found the generic pattern of the carpet fascinating, and he had to strain to hear her. "I didn't...do anything stupid yesterday, did I?"

Remy had to choke back a snort, the resulting sound odd and somewhat silly in his own ears. "You most certainly did _not_ do any table dancing. Or go flirting with strangers. Most embarrassing thing you did yesterday was flirt with that girl at the gas station and that was when you were sober."

"And that was all _your _fault too, Mr. Grabby." She seemed pleased with his answer if her tiny smile was any indication. Then her eyes snapped wide again. "Wait. Flirt with _strangers? _Who did I flirt with?" He probably shouldn't have paused in his answer, mouth open part way, but he was trying to figure out just how to answer that. "Oh no. I didn't!"

"Not...really." Her hand left his as she used the bed to make an escape. He made to scramble over it after her, then chose the floor as the better option. "You didn't really technically flirt! All you said was you didn't know how, which I call bullshit on, and asked me to teach you."

"Oh yes, that's so much better!" He could see the red tinging her cheeks in a very cute way.

"There was nothing horrible about it, don't worry."

"Let's just go."

Assurances was going to get him no where. "Now that I think about it, you did admit you were jealous after accusing me of flirting with the waitress." He didn't know where the towel came from, but it was suddenly planted on his face. Good, he was more accustomed to this Rogue than the mortified girl of a few second ago. "And now that you're sober, I'd be willin' to grant your request for lessons."

It was only his agility that saved his shin from her boot.

xxxxx

There was a giddy realization that came with knowing that no matter what, his mother loved him. It was corny, cliched, and perhaps a tidbit of information that he would share with no one lest his nonexistent reputation get tarnished, but to Bobby it was quite a darn good feeling.

Even though he was running through the corridors of the mansion and fearing for his life, for the first time in as long as he could remember he felt free. He no longer had to hide who he was to his family, so the strict control he had erected in his mind crumbled away. It was liberating.

"Bobby. A word with you?"

Skidding to a halt, he tried not to laugh as he looked the headmistress in the eye. "Yes, Ms. Munroe?" Though graduated, and a member of the X-Men, he knew that calling her by her given name or Storm would not be in his best interest right now.

"Would you happen to know anything about this?" She held up a cup, and he didn't have to look inside to know that her tea, piping hot not five minutes ago, was now solid ice. He didn't have to look in her teapot that it would take hours for the tea in there to melt. He just hoped that she had yet to discover what else he had iced.

"Huh. You know, there may be a cold snap coming through."

"Oh really?" Her gaze was sharp, briefly lifting to the ceiling.

Bobby's hands lifted before him, fending off the silent accusation. "Don't worry. This cold snap is not suicidal enough to touch your plants."

Storm relaxed slowly, still keeping her eye on him. "I would hope not. Is there a reason for this cold snap?"

"Oh, you know. Its probably just trying to liven up the lives of those around him. It. Around it. Spread the joy." Bouncing on his heals, he raised his eyebrows. "Peter's going to have an interesting time waiting for his paint to thaw. Warren won't be wearing that choking cloud he calls cologne for at least two days."

"Well I hope this cold snap knows it can talk to me if he's, if _it's_, having any troubles." Bobby tried not to come across as too giddy that Storm was willing to go along with his cover story.

"Trust me. Things are going great for this cold snap. Maybe it just needs to burn off some excess energy and things can return to normal." Maybe. Probably not. "Oh, speaking of flowers." He reached over her cup and concentrated for a moment. Bringing his hand away, he beamed. "There. Now you have a tea rose."

Storm bit her lip as she studied the ice sculpture. Her shoulders shook, just barely. "That... was a horrible pun."

"I know, wasn't it great?"

"_Drake! When I get free from this, you're a dead man!"_ Logan's angry voice echoed through the corridors.

The look of horror that crossed the headmistress' voice reflected his own, and suddenly all facade was dropped. "I thought you weren't feeling suicidal."

"I may have gotten a bit carried away." Without another word, Bobby dashed away from the sound of Wolverine's voice. Just how did one hide from someone who could smell an ant farting from a mile away?

xxxxx

For a good twenty minutes Rogue refused to meet Remy's eyes or even carry on a conversation that consisted words longer than a syllable. She was mortified that she could have maybe _hit on him,_ especially considering that they both knew she had no experience in that area. It wasn't just that nothing would be able to come of any flirtation, though that did play a part in it. He was effectively lost in a new time and place, and to do what she did, even while under the influence of alcohol, just felt so much like she was trying to take advantage of him.

He had left her walking and just recently came back. She was not sure where he had gone but the tell-tale crinkling of a paper bag indicated he had made a purchase from one of the vendors.

"You wanting to do some shopping?"

"Hmm."

"Ride the rides?"

"Hmm."

"Eat an early lunch? Late breakfast? Or 'brunch' as us old timers call it?"

"Hmm."

His sigh was heavy, weary, and perhaps a little frustrated. "You wanna tie me down and have your wicked way with me?"

_That_ brought her up short. Halting in her tracks, she fixed him with a sharp gaze. "_Excuse_ me?"

Remy tilted his face toward the clear sky as his hands rose. "Finally, she is aware of my presence." He held up the paper bag as he grinned. The sun reflected too brightly off his sunglasses for her to catch a glimpse, but she was sure she would want to smack that look right off his face. "Here. This is for you."

Ignoring the bag, Rogue folded her arms and canted her hips sideways. "What was with that comment, Mister?"

His arm fell back at his side. "Usually someone says something when giving someone something. Takes away the rudeness of just having a bag shoved in the face. Unless rules have changed."

It took her a moment, but when she got what he he was talking about she gave an impatient huff and rolled her eyes. "No, not that one. The...wicked way one."

"Well, I wouldn't say no," His eyebrows waggled as he leaned in. She was proud that she did not back away and effectively ignored any weird flutter. Seeing she would not cave, he sighed once more. "You were the one a million miles away."

"I was agreeing with you. _Yes,_ I want to go shopping, _yes_ I want to ride the rides, and _yes_ I want to get some food."

"Oh good. That's all I was wondering. _And_ I was just seeing if you were paying attention." Once again the paper bag was offered her way.

Rogue considered him for a moment, more to allow him time to sweat for that comment than out of any real anger, before she accepted the bag. Though she not quite sure what she expected, what was in there was not it. Crinkling her nose, she looked up at him in question. "Bracelets?"

"_Oui!_" He took the parcel from her and pulled the bracelets out. They were metallic and loud in his hand. "They're those dangly kind. Ones that make noise so you can't sneak up on me."

She allowed his grip on her wrist even as she glared. "Sugar, if either of us is to be accused of sneaky, it'd be you. Where'd you get these, anyway?"

His fingers paused their work over her hands, his look inscrutable behind colored glass. "Lil' shop on the corner. _Legally_ purchased, might I add."

"Did I imply otherwise?" With a wiggle of her fingers, indicating that she noticed his hesitation, she grinned. "If I thought you were gonna steal everything in sight, I woulda been more insistent on you leaving that coat behind."

The bracelets hung from her wrists now and he moved on to the next with more. "You tryin' to appeal to my guilt with your higher sense of morality?"

"More like threatening. You don't watch it, I'll just steal your pillows. Maybe your blankets. It gets awful cold at night." His eyes lit up as his mouth opened to make a retort. Realizing what she said, she lifted her free hand, enjoying the tinkle of metal against metal. "Not gonna happen."

A picture of pure innocence, he finished with her wrist and raised his hands. "Wasn't gonna say nothin' about nothin'."

"Right." She gave her wrists an experimental shake. "You know, maybe we should tie little bells to your coat. That way, you couldn't sneak up on no one, neither."

"Even with bells, you wouldn't hear me comin'."

"How about really big bells. Maybe a trail of noisy cans. And bike horns strapped to the bottom of your shoes."

His grin was wicked. "I do love a challenge, Chére."

Rogue swallowed hard as she dragged him to a food vendor. She was suddenly thirsty.

**-end Seven**

* * *

_Dun dun duuun! See? I have a wee bit of a tiny part of a plot going there! I feel all accomplished and stuff. Any blaring mistakes, please let me know. Anything unclear, feel free to ask about that, as well. Some things I cannot reveal, as the plot isn't exactly cement yet (or, you know, completely thought through...) but I can try to answer them. _

_And for those curious, I managed to turn my essay in on time._


	8. It's All Relative

I am back! Yes, still here. Three updates in as many weeks? Wow, one would think I'm actually back! (Which, I am, by the way. This isn't just some willy nilly thingy doodad. I do _hope_ to actually get this done soon. Er, yeah.)

Thanks again to **Sassyx22x**. She checks stuff, and stuff gets better, and there's like...this exchange of idea things. And plots gets more awesome. And stuff. And she does this even as she writes her own stuff! Golly!

I would include something witty here, as I'm sure everyone expects and utterly adores (snort) but my brain is currently mush.

Thanks again to everyone for reading this, and hopefully while you do, you are enjoying it as well!

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, there'd be an origin movie for each, a crossover, more screen time, and poor Mr. Kitsch would have been even _more_ uberly awesome. (I thought he did pretty gosh darn good, in my humble opinion, especially with what he was given. Ten years I waited, and by golly he made each year worth it in my book.) I don't, so I'm writing fanfic.

Oh yeah! Now I remember what I wanted to say! Stuff happens in this bit. ...Yeah, obviously, but _plot_ stuff. (Look for it! Its there, I promise!)

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"It _is_ him, far as we can tell."

Jean-Luc stared over the pile of paperwork at the small boy perched at the edge of the grand chair. Why they had sent a small pup to do their job did not matter. Perhaps they believed that should the news delivered not be favorable, the patriarch would hesitate in venting his anger toward the child of his eldest. Or perhaps they did not care, so long as they were not on the receiving end of his ire.

"What you mean, far as you can tell? It is or it isn't!"

To his benefit, the young boy did not flinch. "Those pictures, the ones you made so he'd look old and stuff? They don't look like him. The other one? It does."

The head of the Thieves' Guild leaned back, the cheap leather chair creaking beneath the strain. One thing he missed the most about home was the limitless funds to assure comfort.

How was it possible that his son, who had been missing for nearly twenty years, did not appear to have aged? Could it have been a side effect of the agency's experimentation? Longevity for an extended test subject did not seem beyond their reach. Such a thing would be greatly valued by both guilds. This would truly be a momentous occasion, for not only would the prodigal son return, but with the added bonus of so much more than either he or Marius bargained for. He truly did not know which held higher anticipation for him. True, he missed his son and even regretted the circumstances surrounding the younger man's incarceration, but the thought of this possible new ability in the hands of the guilds on top of everything that they had learned was too priceless. For a man who held a price for anything and any_one,_ this was a rare and nearly intangible concept for Jean-Luc.

The chair before his desk, much cheaper than even the poor excuse he sat in, squeaked as the younger thief shifted. Jean-Luc turned his attention toward the boy. "You know what to do then?"

Though he tried to hide it, the boy did not look to keen on taking on a man who was practically a legend among his peers. Despite his misgivings, there was no way he would deny his leader this request. "Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, _Le Diable Blanc _don't bite." His grin turned into something more, with a hint of feral pride on his lips. "Hard."

xxxxx

The little taffy shop felt old and well loved. Little touches to the decoration gave it a sense that whoever worked here either really loved his job or knew how to make it appear he did. Rogue preferred to think of the minor touches as the first.

"You know," she whispered as she leaned close to Remy. "I always thought the Boardwalk was on the beach. And that the path was made of actual boards."

Remy glanced passed her and out the window. "I can see the water from here. We're pretty close."

Her cheeks burned as she admitted her own ignorance. "No, I mean I thought it was just this little strip actually _on_ the beach and that it was nothing but this weird collection of shops you'd find at a carnival." His grin widened as her cheeks burned brighter. "Oh, shut up."

She was sorely tempted to just wipe that look off of his face as her hand planted firmly on his shoulder to shove him away. As he grabbed her hand and used her momentum against her, Rogue wondered if she would ever get it through her thick skull that Remy was just a wee bit more quick on his feet than she gave him credit for. Her arms were now pinned by his as her shoulder blades dug into where she assumed his solar plexus was. The close proximity was alarming. The only person who held no fear over her unusual skin had the healing ability to make it through even prolonged exposure.

"Didn't say a word," he said as quietly as she had spoken earlier. With a gentle hum he rocked back and forth. "Just good to know I ain't the only one who don't know everything."

Despite the rigidity of her spine, she wanted to enjoy this random and so utterly normal contact with another. But each move he made caused her heart to leap with the fear that his bare hand would brush against that one strip of uncovered skin. "What are you doin'?"

"Dancin'." It certainly did not feel like any of the dances she was used to. This was nothing like the awkward fumbling on the school gymnasium floor, before her powers emerged and she had just been a normal girl, with a nervous boy who wondered just how far his hands could wander before getting slapped by her or scolded by a teacher. There was a surety in Remy's movements, as though this was not his first tuneless waltz in the middle of a candy store aisle.

Rogue had to put a stop to it before she found she enjoyed it.

"Sugar?" He took a moment to make a sound. "My dance card's full." She grabbed both his thumbs and twisted. His hiss was low as she felt him drop to the ground behind her. Turning, she rose a questioning eyebrow down at him on his knees.

"Stronger than you look," he groused. Before she could worry that she hurt him, not thinking for a moment that she had twisted _that_ hard, he grinned. "Got any more tricks up your sleeves?"

There was no fathomable reason why she said what she did next. A moment of insanity, the illusion she was just a normal girl with a boy she may or may not hold an interest in. "You know that trick with the cherry stem and tongue?"

His eyes widened as he leaned forward.

"I could never get the hang of that." She turned, sharp on her heal, a tiny smirk on her face.

"That's...just _mean!" _Then he muttered something too soft for her to fully catch, but she was certain it was along the lines of it being a damn shame.

Rogue laughed as she picked up a bag of assorted taffy. She was not a fan of the stuff in general, but it felt almost like a crime to come to Atlantic City, where it originated, and not try it.

A few more delectable choices later and Rogue was ready to check out. She set the assortment of goods that would send her straight into a sugar coma should she cave and devour them all at once as she so desired to. Hopefully, Remy would have the presence of mind to stop her from doing just that.

Now that she thought about it, she had not seen him since she left him in a confused heap on the floor. She looked toward the aisle but it was free from all customers except for a little boy staring at a huge candy bar. She turned and opened her mouth to call his name but was cut off as she bumped right into him. Startled, she jumped back with a little cry and barely remembered that young ears were in the store. "You scared the bejeebus outta me!"

His only answer was a snort, presumably at her choice of expletive, before setting a jar on the counter.

It took her two seconds to realize what it was. "Oh no. I am _not_ gonna buy that."

"Didn't expect you to, _Chére_." He waited patiently as the young girl behind the counter rung up Rogue's items. "Rude of me to offer my teachin' services if I made you buy the material, yeah?"

A look in the mirror above the register showed her cheeks flushed a bright pink. "Too bad there ain't gonna _be_ any teaching."

"It's a valid skill set! You yourself brought it up." He flicked his wrist on the cap of the bottle of cherries, causing it to spin. "It's good practice. Trains dexterity, coordination, educational stuff like that."

The cashier's cheeks flushed a bright scarlet. "It's also a good way to get some of them so dumbfounded that they don't even realize you're leaving until you're gone."

"See? Excellent evasive maneuvering!"

"I am not gonna cave just so I can be...distracting and leave," she groused as she pulled money from her purse.

"Oh, trust me. You won't be distracting." Her eyes snapped to his to see what could only be described as a lascivious grin. "You'd be _dangerous._"

A flustered flutter spread through her, and she was not sure it was just because of her embarrassment over the situation. She could not seem to take her eyes off of his, even as she laid more than enough money down to pay for her purchase. "I'll...be out in the car."

Not waiting for change, she grabbed her bag and hurried toward the door.

"We didn't _bring_ the car!"

xxxxx

The boardwalk, though perhaps not quite as Rogue pictured it to be, was still something that one could not deny the beauty of. Modernization mingled with old in a cacophony of imagery, a poem in brick and steel. She enjoyed it all even as she tried to ignore the constant shifting of Remy's purchase. He would not let her forget her comment made on a whim of flirtation even as he kept his mouth closed tight on the subject.

"How 'bout there?" Remy gestured with the hand that held the bag toward a carousel.

Ignoring another one of his attempts to place unwanted images in her mind, Rogue instead took in the large machine with old fashioned horses and buggies. "Not exactly something I'd picture you on. Or like, for that matter."

"What's not to like? Every boy dreams of being a knight in shining armor. Every girl dreams of riding a unicorn. Or they should, at least once." He turned so that he was walking backward in front of her. "'Sides, I like carousels. They're...timeless."

It was the undertone to his words that led Rogue to finally agree on standing in the ridiculously long line. Of all they had seen, the carousel was perhaps one of the few things that had not changed much over the years. A few new coats of paint when needed, fine tuning of the machinery, despite any inward changes made, it was the antiquity of the ride that drew people to it.

It was difficult to find two horses side by side when their group was allowed on. Hers was, much to her chagrin and Remy's delight, indeed a unicorn. It was not the frilly pink one two rows back, but a painted mural of pastel blues and pale yellows. His was a white steed with flaring nostrils and kicking hooves, the perfect horse to complete his aforementioned knight in shining armor look. She was secure in the hard plastic saddle, fully expecting Remy to have done the same. Looking over, she saw him lift a young boy onto the white stallion before he turned toward her.

"Too many people on, I guess," he replied with a shrug. Before she could have the chance to offer her unicorn to him, he grasped the bronze pole above her head and leaped up. The unexpected move startled her and she held her breath in the anticipation of his fall, but he had secured his foot in the stirrup. The sudden start of the ride did not phase him as he hovered over her with a wide grin. "The only way to ride."

Eyes wide, Rogue assessed the people around them. "Remy, get down! You're gonna be a bad influence on the kids!"

Keeping a firm grip on the pole, the jerky up and down movement of the bar not even phasing him, he glanced around at the children staring at him. "Don't try this, pups. I'm old enough to know the odds of me falling on my butt are high." He turned his gaze on her, eyes bright and flashing his amusement over the rim of his sunglasses. "I come with my own disclaimer."

Snorting, Rogue buried her eyes in her gloves. "Yeah, approach with caution."

"_Non._ That'd be you." The words, though in jest, were too true and enough to sting. "Never stop me, though." That, and the feel of the truth behind what he said in the way he casually fiddled sure fingers through her pony tail sent her spiraling in an emotional tailspin that mirrored the movement of the carousel.

When she was able to move away from the safety of her gloves, the message in his eyes were very clear. _You don't scare me._

A nice sentiment, and probably one he meant in that moment, but her past would not allow her to forget that in the end she scared not only herself but those around her. Instead of arguing, she offered a flat smile.

The ride slowed and stop and Remy hopped down. Rogue still felt the motion of the ride as she accepted his hand to climb off her unicorn. He kept his grip on her, tilting his head to one side. "Before we go anywhere else, just got one thing to say."

Unsure what he meant, she swallowed before answering. "Oh?"

"Yep." His free hand reached past her as his eyes hardened. "Give it back."

Though they had known each other a few days, they had been around long enough that Rogue had started to believe he never got angry. It was a confusing sensation to see an emotion that was both sour and real. "Remy?"

He was not looking at her. Her eyes turned and she caught sight of the young boy sliding down from the horse. He looked no older than ten, and his mask of defiance barely hid his stark terror. "Don't know what you talkin' about, old man."

"I know you took it. Want me to say when? Right when the lady here looked up. Now give it back." To Rogue's surprise, the young boy pulled Remy's worn wallet from inside his shirt. Pursing his lips, the young one scrutinized the two of them before handing it over with a huff.

"Thought for sure you didn't notice. Guess they're true then."

"Depends." Remy sifted through bills and cards, making sure everything was still there. Pleased in finding that nothing was missing, he stuffed the old piece of leather into his back pocket. "What's true?"

With a cocky grin that was a decade too old for him to be able to properly use, the boy said a string of words in jilted French. It was obvious to Rogue that he was not fluent. The only words she could decipher from the garble was 'devil' and 'white.'

Unlike her, Remy appeared to perfectly understand what was said. His eyebrows knitted together for an instant. "Who sent you?"

"Your father wants to see you."

He froze, his entire body going rigid. Through the space between them Rogue could feel how tense he was. "No."

Genuine fear lanced through the young boy's expression before he regained his composure. "I...was sent to get you."

Remy considered the boy, scrutinizing the young face. She could see his mind mull over scenarios and outcomes. "Fine."

The boy's relief was palpable as he started off. Remy reluctantly followed. Unsure what to do for him, especially when he was tense and jumpy, Rogue merely fell in step beside him.

Normally, Rogue would have been pleased to hear someone's father wanted to see them. For mutants, especially those with parents of normal _human_ society, having a cohesive and supporting family system was a sad far cry from the norm. Were it someone like Bobby, she would have assumed that any remaining tension had evaporated over time and distance.

With Remy, it was different. Aside from the blatant tells that he simply did not want this reunion, there was a shade of a half-memory floating in her mind. There was only one word that surfaced in a faint whisper when she thought of him and family in the same sentence. _Betrayal._

"So," she started casually, for once being the first person to reach for the other as she uncharacteristically slid her hand into his. "Why are you agreeing to go?"

Her touch surprised him. She could not tell if his eyes were on her through the dark glasses, but the tingle up her spine told her they were. "You know the phrase 'don't kill the messenger'?"

"Yeah?"

His smile held no humor. "Papa never heard it."

xxxxx

Remy stared at the man that had brought him home, given him a name, made him family. The years had been kind to the LeBeau patriarch, despite years of living a less than lawful existence. Only a few lines and more gray hair than brown marked the passage of time on the man's weathered face. Had Remy's last memory of his father been pleasant, he would have been pleased at this discovery.

It had not.

All he could remember now were the angry words, accusations flung from both parties. Then the intricate web of betrayal. That had hurt worse than all the experiments he had endured.

"You look...well." A hint of awe, colored with desperation, coated the older man's voice. "How is it you still look so young?"

"Exercise." He refused to sit. Though his posture was tense and gave away just how much he did not want to be there, sitting was something he was too tense to even consider.

"And how you come to be in Atlantic City? Not the same as home, but she do for now."

"Enough," he snapped as his fist balled against his side. "Why'd you ask me here?"

His sharp tone shocked Jean-Luc, something that brought a perverse pleasure to the younger man. "Remy, it's been _years._ _Decades,_ even. I wanted to see _you._"

"Hasn't been that long for me." He propped his arms against the desk, leaning over. He kept his eyes firmly on the man's chin. "The reason I look so young is because I _am. _They tested. They poked. They prodded. And when they ran out of money, they put me in storage. Just like any other piece of office furniture."

With every word from his son's mouth, Jean-Luc's eyes steadily grew wider. "_Mon Dieu..._ This is why you needa come home, Remy. We can help you. It's your _home,_ we're your _family."_

"That's just it, Papa. You've had _time_ to recover. _Time_ to realize your mistakes. _Time_ to forgive a foolish young _boy_ his mistakes." He met his father's eyes for the first time, trying to make him see. "_I _haven't. They took that away from me, and you _let_ them."

"Remy, I didn't realize what they wanted 'til it was too late." Jean-Luc stood. When he started to come around the desk, Remy took a step back and held up his hands to fend the older man back. The age finally showed on the man's face as he sank back into his chair. "When I did...We looked for you for _years._"

"You should have looked harder." It was a cruel jab, especially to the King of Thieves, but at that moment Remy was feeling more than a little vindictive. "After all, I was found by a group of people not even lookin'."

Jean-Luc rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right. These _X-Men." _Remy hated the condescending tone, and realized that his father knew more than he was letting on. "You can't trust 'em. And that girl? She could kill you with a touch."

"Don' talk about her like she's a mindless killer. She ain't Bella Donna." It was the closest to descent that he could bring himself to do. Though the guilds had never been united, speaking ill of one of the heirs to their rivals was frowned on, even in private and especially to his own guild's head. "Trust? No, I don't fully trust them yet. But I know they wouldn't hand me over to some shady man just to get me out of their hair, either. And at least with _Marie_I know that she don't want me dead."

A tick formed on his father's jaw. "What it gonna _take_, Remy?"

"Just what you had twenty _years_ of, Papa. Time."

The door slammed behind him and disorientation swept over him at the sudden removal of his father from his presence. Rogue was waiting for him down in the lobby, probably reading a magazine that was was dated a year earlier. Old news to her, but nothing he would know about. Wearily, he tilted his head back as he rolled his shoulders. The tension would remain for hours to come.

"So it _is_ you." A voice he had not even hoped to hear caused his eyes to snap open and stare at the woman before him. "What you lookin' at me like that for? Get over here before I gotta move to you."

Older than he remembered her being, the once grey hair was now a stark white, contrasting against her dark skin. Time, though not cruel, had not been as kind to her as it had to Jean-Luc. Then again, she had not been exactly young when he had first met her, either.

He came just as she beckoned, slowly, his legs not quite ready to register what his brain was still trying to comprehend. "_Tante?"_

The only answer Remy got were two strong arms wrapping around him with more strength than she should have been able to posses. He returned the embrace, torn between holding her just as strongly and not wanting to risk hurting the woman.

There was a smart thwack on his shoulder. "You call that a hug? Give me one proper!"

Perhaps it was the strike of her weathered palm, or her abundantly obvious indignation at his idea of a hug. His throat constricted as he found it hard to breath, and as he tightened his grip to near vice-like proportions, he found himself wishing he were ten years old again and that he could just sit at the counter and watch his _Tante_ do whatever it was she was doing that day or hide in her apron when his little world appeared to crumble down around his ears. She even smelled the same, a mix of herbs and earth and something that he could never put his finger on. All he knew was that it was her.

She started to pull back, or perhaps she was just shifting, but Remy was suddenly struck with the fear that she was going to leave him again. "_Non,_" he bit out as he tightened around her. He was not sure what he said next, the stream of incoherent words lost on his ears, but she seemed to be able to decipher the rantings of a man two inches from shattering.

"Don't worry, child," she soothed with gentle scolding words and circles on his back. "I ain't goin' nowhere. Got plenty of years left for you."

His laugh came out choked, but he didn't try to hide it. "Please don't."

"Got _years_ for you." Whether she had started rocking, or him, he did not know, but the slow and steady rhythm brought a comfort. "Just take all the time you need."

The offer of something denied him for so long by someone he had always loved more than his own life caused Remy to finally shatter.

**-End Eight**

* * *

_How come everything seems longer when I'm typing, yet so short when I post? Should I blame my ridiculously sized monitor? And I cut off there, because if a guy is gonna maybe or not break down and cry on the only maternal figure he's ever known, then by golly he's gonna get the privacy to do so! (Whether he does or not is unknown. Only he and Mattie know, and they ain't telling.)  
_


	9. Voices and the Gloves

**Voices and the Gloves**

There _are _excuses as to why this is so late. But hey, at least its only been a couple of weeks as opposed to years, right? _Right?_ Sigh. Anyhoo, English had finally fried my brain. On top of that, one of my kittens got run over by a car, I'd had issues with financial aide at school, Mama got engaged, I was diagnosed with both bipolar and mild PTSD, I am now getting used to being medicated once again, and to unwind from the stress of life, InuYasha and World of Warcraft had taken my mind off a lot of stuff.

You all can thank my beta (I figure its now safe to use that word xD Yay! I have a beta!) **Sassyx22x** for getting my rear in gear on this. She threatened to send a search party after me. And Gambit. I am so easily bought.

I'm not sure how long the next part will take to be written. There's still some decisions on where this is going, and I really need to outline major points instead of relying on my distractable brain.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, they would be the Morticia and Gomez Addams of the Marvel Universe.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Rogue flipped through a magazine with ground breaking gossip eight months old. She did stumble across an article about Bob Barker's retirement, but even as she giggled she did not quite trust the words in the rag aside from them being written in English.

Her amusement ended as she glanced at her watch. Despite his reassurances to the contrary, she did not believe that Remy would leave the meeting unscathed. He had been too tense when he left, his back impossibly straight as he headed for the elevator, and even the wink he threw her way as the doors slid closed had seemed strained.

_What do you know?_ She mentally groused in a petulant voice eerily similar to Bobby's, slamming the tabloid onto the stack of equally outdated periodicals. _You met the man a few days ago. No way can you be an expert on his personality._

Another thought, muted in sound but not temper, pushed through. _Damn kid's an ass. Let him sweat a bit._ It was something Logan would say, and not at all what Rogue believed.

As a welcome distraction, a man who had been subject to her wrath minutes ago stepped into clear view in the lobby. Rogue had already been antsy and looking for a fight. The calm hum that had settled over her mind the past couple of days had escalated to a dull roar now that she was alone. Though not enough to worry, it was enough to annoy and give her a headache. That was when she had seen _him._

She still did not know his name, and doubted she wanted to. He had been deep in conversation on his phone as he pushed through the front door, too heavy and spring tight as she recalled, and he had let it go to slam into the face of the woman not two feet behind him. Whether it was the chivalry of countless men in her mind or merely the desire for a brawl she was unsure, but Rogue found herself cutting the man's path to the elevator.

She had grabbed his cellphone, snapped it shut, and proceeded to ream her helpless victim through the wringer for the next five minutes. He had gone from indignant fury to a fast retreat the moment his cell struck his chest.

Rogue, finally calm, was horrified to realize that the older woman had been watching her.

"I am so sorry," she had begun with a stutter, somehow knowing that this was not a woman to make mad. "I was already in a foul mood, and I saw that, and I just want..." Unable to properly voice what it was she had actually wanted to do, she had punctuated her sentence with a strangulating pantomime.

"No need to apologize, Child." The old woman's voice had been smooth and husky. The lyrical lilt of her accent reminiscent of the times when Remy went beyond exhaustion to slur a dialect he no longer used. "Trust me, that boy needed a proper talking to. Comin' from a wisp like you? Ain't a talk he likely soon forget."

Rogue blushed as her shoe scuffed over the buffed floor. "Guess he never heard you don't cross a southern gal."

The old woman gave a knowing look as she shook her head. "These boys up north are too used to their fragile flowers. Ain't none of them would last ten minutes in Mississippi _or_ Louisiana." The slow way had she pronounced the state names had Rogue's heart clenching in a rare moment of homesickness. Before she could reply, the woman's hand had been warm and firm on her arm. "So sorry, Child, but I gotta go see my boy. Haven't seen him in so long, my poor heart's achin' with fear he don't remember me."

"By all means!" Rogue had stood aside to allow the woman by. If this had been a family member waiting to greet Remy, Rogue knew she would not be half as anxious. That thought in mind, she had called out, hoping that at least one person would get the warm maternal glow washing off the woman in waves. "Love on him good for me, would you?"

The woman's eyes danced, brimming with barely restrained joy. "That boy's got twenty years of lovin' in one hug comin.'"

The door closed, and for a time Rogue had been content to just read old rags. Now the roar was back, and so was the man from earlier. He saw her the same time she saw him. He straightened his tie and made for her, hand raising in an authoritative point as he marched toward her.

"Don't you dare, Sir. I am not one of your employees to suffer your abuse." His step faltered only slightly in his progress toward her. Annoyed, she stood. "Don't make me come over there, I am in _no_ way in the mood for your lip."

"Do you realize just who I am, young lady?"

"Whether you from the mail room or one of the dozens of higher up guppies, don't likely suppose I give a damn, Sir."

"Do not presume for an iota of a second that you will be hired on here with such an abominable attitude!"

"And don't you go thinkin' for a moment I'm threatened by your pathetic use of fancy words. If you were listenin' for a second you'd remember I ain't here for a job. Now run along and bully those who can't defend themselves from your peacock posturing."

Instead of waiting for him to leave as she suggested, Rogue grabbed her purse and marched toward the front desk then entered the elevator and pressed the button for the floor the receptionist gave her. It would do her nerves good to wait near her friend than proceed to be the volatile mess she had become.

The short ride gave her body to lose some of the tension from her encounter, but the roar in her mind rose. She groaned as she fished in her purse for whatever store brand pain killers she had in there. Popping the lid, she dry swallowed two before placing the bottle back in her purse.

She really hoped it would stop soon. She did not want her vacation to end.

The elevator chime rang like creaking metal spikes in her head. Each foot step on the brightly polished tile was a crack of thunder, a bullet, the cue ball striking the eight. Memories that were only hers through illegal acquisition floated in fragmented scraps. She was a pirate, though not of the seas or internet, and thrown into the profession against her will.

The urge to call out a hearty 'arr, me hearties' was only tampered by her desire to remain silent and sane.

A sharp turn in the hall led her to an alcove of chairs outside the door she was directed to. The name LeBeau was the only thing on the shaded glass, without even a business name. She supposed that there would really be no need for anything more. Behind those doors was the man that had raised Remy, though by his reaction to the summons, Rogue figured that his childhood had been as optimal as hers.

Voices in the alcove caught her attention. They were muted, but not with the vehemency she had expected to hear. Turning, she was surprised to see the woman from downstairs sitting beside Remy. He was leaning against the armrest separating them, grinning in a way she had not seen in him. It reminded her of the angry look he had for the boy, real and true, and Rogue wondered if anything she had seen on his face when they were alone had been true. Had it been an act?

Shaking herself and more than a little surprised at her reaction, Rogue mad herself as invisible as possible against the white pillar, a stark contrast to the colorful green fabrics and dark brown of the majority of her hair. She did not want to intrude on this, a moment with someone who cared for _him_ was something he obviously needed.

There was something about him that she kept overlooking, but when his eyes turned to catch hers, she realized she should have remembered just how hyper aware of his surroundings he was. He jerked his head in their direction, and when she made the hesitant step forward, he grinned and turned back to his conversation. He said something quietly to the woman, who in turn looked up.

"So this is your Prince Charmin', eh?" The old woman smiled warmly as her voice was thick and sweet as cool honey. "Well, you're as pretty as the boy said, child."

Rogue's steps faltered slightly as her cheeks heated up, and she tried to hide her smile as she continued toward them. When she reached them, Remy stood and offered his seat. "Tryin' to make yourself look good?"

"Always," he replied with an unabashed grin. Then, head tilted, he scrutinized her appearance. "You okay, Chére?"

She must not have been doing a good job of hiding her headache that still had yet to wane. Before she could reply, the woman next to her snorted. "She probably recoverin' from the lickin' she gave that fool downstairs."

"That was you?" So she had been talked about from both sides. Somehow, she could not find offense in this.

"Seems she makes a habit of ridin' on that steed of hers to save the day." Rogue's blush deepened, but again she was saved from speaking. The woman chose that moment to give Remy a sharp poke in the side. "Where your manners?"

"Oh, right! Chére, meet _Tante_ Mattie, the only woman fool enough to put up with me in my vagrant youth. _Tante,_ this is..." he trailed off as he pulled a wallet from his pocket. To her horror, she recognized it as her own. "Anna-Marie D'Ancanto." His eyebrows rose with enough surprise that they nearly disappeared beneath his bangs. "Far as I know, she prefers Rogue. Maybe Marie, depending."

"_Rogue_ will be all you ever call me, you low life swamp rat!" She lunged at him, trying to grab her wallet back. "I aughta knock you three ways from Sunday for this!"

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Chére. It get you nowhere." Still, she was able to grab what was her back and she sat in a huff. She clearly remembered it being in her purse, which was zipped. Still was. With a scowl, she shoved it back in.

"Remy, stop pullin' the poor girl's hair and sit." His response to Mattie's demand was instant, though he took the seat beside Rogue instead of next to his aunt. Suddenly, she felt surrounded, and briefly fought back the wave of claustrophobia. Sensing the discomfiture, Mattie leaned toward the other side. "I have no doubt you be havin' your hands full with this one. But I 'spect you handle him just fine."

The way the older woman was talking, it sounded to Rogue as though Remy had planted the seeds of romance in her ear. Turning a glare toward Remy, she was surprised to see a mild reddish hue on his own cheeks. "Say that like I'm a trouble maker."

"Only the best kind, child."

Rogue tried to keep up with their conversation. Really she did. But the painkillers weren't helping, and the inner voices were struggling to be heard. They were not as loud as they'd been in the elevator, but were distracting nonetheless. Instead of struggling, she allowed the two to continue to catch up on events and things. Mattie did most of the talking, and Remy was apparently an uncle with a sister-in-law. She couldn't be sure, but she thought it made his smile that much lighter to hear.

A sharp spike flared behind her eyes. Tensing, she could only think to press her forehead tightly against his shoulder in an attempt to push it away. The voices around her stopped, and had she not been so wrapped up in her misery, she would have felt horrible. As it was, bludgeoning the wall with her cranium was sounding better by the second.

"What's wrong?" His voice was as soft as the fingers in her hair.

"Nothing. Just a real bad headache. I'm fine."

There was silence. Then Mattie stood up. "I'm late for a lunch with that man in there." There was a sound of shuffling, likely through her purse. "You give me a call, child. Any time. And come see me before you leave the city, yeah? You too, Marie."

Remy took the card as his aunt bent down to give him a hug. "Take the girl back to rest her eyes. All this poor lighting ain't good for no one."

Long minutes after her footsteps faded behind a closed door, Rogue found her voice. Tiny, pained, and not a little ashamed, but there. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. She promised she'd stay around forever, she means it." He was still, nearly a statue beside her. "You wantin' to move yet?"

"Not yet." Her head would fall off if she tried.

There was more silence for a short while. Then he hummed, the vibration working its way through to where she was against him. He picked something up, and she heard the faint whisper of paper. "So. Anna, huh?"

"Don't see much sense in givin' a name to people that won't be there long." It had been a mechanism of defense from a young age. Giving her middle name had seemed a good way to protect her true self from hurting when she inevitably left one home for the other. It had been so long since she started that it had become second nature. No one had called her Anna since she'd lived with Irene.

"Hmm. Also see how it gives the wrong impression," he mused thoughtfully. "Rogue implies you ain't one to be trusted. Marie? I suppose just lookin' from the outside I could see a sea of bitterness, but that's not altogether true. Much as you hide it, you're more merciful than bitter."

Pulling back slightly to give him a look of disbelief, she barked a short burst laughter at the baby name book in his hands. "Where'd you find that?"

"It was just sittin' here. Apparently, I'm from Rheims. Which is a lie. My name's a lie." He then shrugged and tossed it aside. "Well, maybe the first one."

She rolled her eyes and groaned. Leaning back in her chair, the headache that had been tearing through her mind was less insistent than it had been. Had the medication kicked in? It started to press against her temple as the silence wore on, and she groaned again.

"Head still botherin' you?"

"I'll be fine," she assured as she pushed further into his shoulder. She was desperate for relief, and decided to put her theory to test. "Do me a favor?"

"'Course."

"Keep talking? Don't care what its about, what language its in, just...keep talking."

Soon, the voices were drowned out by a wave of what could have been a lyrical Cajun folktale.

xxxxx

Roger could not hold back his scowl as he stepped into his office. The nerve of that little girl, speaking to him as though she had the right, as though she were anything other than some genetic abomination.

"You look pissed." The voice, though surprising in a place he had believed to be empty, was not unexpected. Trevor had been tailing the two since they had arrived in Atlantic City and had warned Roger of the girl's questionable attitude.

"You would be to, if a piece of office furniture believed they could give you a lesson on morality." Loosening his tie, he walked around his desk. Grabbing the back of the chair, he jerked it back from beneath the older man. Just because they had been assigned to this did not make them equals, nor did it give him the right to his chair.

Trevor snorted and moved to the seat opposite the desk. Then, to make a point that he was around for keeps, propped his dirty shoes on the clear plastic mat protecting calendars and company standards of procedure. "Told you she was an annoying bitch. Almost made me wish I could do more to her. Teach a lesson or two while I was at it."

It was not the intention behind the salacious smile that made Roger shudder. It was who the intended target was. The girl, while physically appealing on some base level, was technically not even human, so his partner's desire to show the female her place suggested something akin to bestiality.

"No matter. We need to get this rolling, and soon. The longer he is out of his cage, the more difficult it will become. He's gaining ties."

"What about his old man? He gonna give us trouble?" Despite the no smoking sign, Trevor pulled out the stub of a cigar that looked like it had seen the insides of a linty pocket for far too long. Pulling out a lighter, the crass shape enough to cause Roger's nose to scrunch, smoke soon wafted an acrid smell in the air. Once it would have been pleasant, but now it was just stale.

"LeBeau is too bound by honor to betray us now. He truly believes this is the only way to maintain peace between those guilds of his." Typing in the password, he logged in his computer and clicked a few buttons. "Besides. You've heard him over the years. The man truly regrets bringing that abomination into his family."

Trevor only grunted.

Roger read through a new e-mail. His lips curled in delight. "Apparently, Barry wants us to begin the extraction process."

"So, kill the bitch and grab the dog?"

The temptation was great, and he could practically feel her life drain from beneath squeezing fingers. Slumping, he tried not to sound too dejected as he replied. "No. He's heard of her through some colleagues, and believes she may be of use."

Trevor snorted. "How?"

"He doesn't say. Just something obscure about duplicating results." Closing the browser, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know, if you would have just gotten the confirmation while you were there in the first place..."

"Hey, already told you. I was kicked out."

Roger picked up his phone and dialed a number. "All I'm saying is we could have just killed her before she pissed me off. Next time, don't improvise. You suck at it."

"You're the Boss."

Someone picked up on the other end. Though he would love to take care of this himself, sometimes the only way to bring in rabid animals was to call animal control.

xxxxx

Hank knew no greater joy than that of discovery. To use his brain to its fullest capacity, even as his large furry hand dwarfed the beaker it held, was an accomplishment he looked forward to fulfilling each morning he woke up. Sometimes the act of discovery was delayed by a source outside of his own body, such as the data the computer was attempting to defragment, and during those times it was a challenge to reign in the impatient nature of his more bestial appearance. Could be, too, that as with many of his peers, Hank simply did not like to wait.

Whichever the case may have been, he attempted to distract his curiosity as strings of Bach wafted through the speakers and the latest _Astrophysical Journal_ rested in his hands. Every so often, he would succumb to curiosity and look up at the progress bar. Before, he would tilt his head to try and see it from a more proper angle, but now he just took the upside down screen in stride. It was nearly done, but not yet complete, and it was those last few percent points that could drive a man insane.

With a sigh, he reached down and picked up a cup of coffee. Arching back, he brought the porcelain to his lips. Setting the cup back down, he wondered if perhaps there was not an easier way to drink while suspended from the ceiling. Until that day, he was merely pleased that he did not spill.

What sort of treasures were buried in the information? He would love to question the young man, who by all accounts should be older than Hank, but their quest had whisked Rogue off for adventures unknown. While the ever curious part of him wailed at the delay in information, the other cheered at the possibility that the hapless young woman would invariably find herself with a much needed break from the monotony that had become her life. And perhaps, if the agitation that Logan had displayed was any indication, this Remy would break through the self imposed barrier of the young lady and...

_And what, Hank? Ride her off into the sunset so that they could live happily ever after?_

It was a fanciful idea that they would get a happily ever after. They did not even know of the man's character, aside from the account of Ororo from when she was younger. Such a limited source of information, the memory of childhood, and yet Hank could not help but hope that Storm's assessment of his character held true.

A muted sound, barely heard through the violins, caught his attention and withdrew him from his musings. A quick look at the screen told him that the computer was done doing the best it could, and with a twist and a flip, Hank landed softly on his feet.

There were more software they could run the data through, this was merely a cursory look, and Kitty would be the one rebuilding through the corruption. But hopefully it would give them a brief analysis of what had occurred there. Hank had followed some ambiguous leads, and had actually been the one to pinpoint the facility, but that had been as far as they had gotten until now. Well, the inclusion of Remy LeBeau shed some light, but his presence raised more questions and very few answers.

The data was more corrupt than he would have liked. It was obvious that the information was not gathered in the heyday of modern technology. Fortunately his computer had translated what it could into more readily accessible files. Through the erroneous characters thrown in throughout the first few files he opened, he began to thank whoever was listening that he had decided to forgo lunch to watch over the system's progress.

When he finished looking through everything that wasn't corrupted beyond salvation, he leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His initial reaction, aside from nausea, was that he did not want Kitty to see this. She was young and still had an innocent naivety toward the cruelties of the world. Yet, it was perhaps her compassion that would ensure that the project be completed. As much as he desired to protect those younger than he, especially those essentially under his care, he knew that the knowledge gained would better their odds for success should a conflict arise.

Copying the files to his hard drive, he unhooked the data stick and loped out the door of his lab, wishing he could forget such phrases as 'viable atomic warfare substitute' and a patient referred to only as 'subject.' And these were the scientists that had the gall to call _him_ an animal.

xxxxx

The late lunch, eaten in the outdoor area of a small restaurant, filled their stomachs, though Remy was not sure if it helped his companion's aching head any. She appeared to be feeling better, but then he had not even known about her malady until it became too much for her to remain silent. So he kept an eye on her and hoped she did not feel the need to put on a brave front. Though a part of him felt hypocritical for wanting it - after all, it was not as though he was incredibly forthcoming with his own issues – he wished she would tell him what was going on inside that pretty head of hers. Were the headaches a common occurrence, or was it a culmination of events?

Draining the last of his coffee, pitifully weaker than he preferred, he stood. "Ready?"

She offered a small smile, which he was please to see held none of the earlier traces of pain, as she stood and pulled out her wallet. "As I'll ever be."

He wanted to protest her earlier insistence that lunch was on her, but he had lied to her in the car earlier. Not for reasons she would find obvious, but Rogue terrified him, and in that curious way that made him want to see just how scared he could get. So, while he would normally deny her wishes, and pay himself just to see what sort of delicious punishment she dealt, he just stood back at the cash register. He shrugged at the cashier as she gave him an indiscernible look. "Who am I to deny a pretty lady her wishes?"

Seeing _Tante_ Mattie, though wonderfully alive while considerably older, had driven home just how far out of his depth he truly was. In his time, movements and demands for rights had been a loud and sometimes angry transition. Now the only protests were for a war he knew nothing about while women held the door open for men and Rogue could stand up for his _Tante_ without being looked at twice. This last one he was quite pleased with, but the changes were so many and so new.

"You, sir, are a troublesome brat," Rogue informed with with no malice and a little bit of affection as they merged onto the crowded walkway. She kept close, pressing against his arm to avoid pedestrians brushing past with the blissful ignorance of someone who did not know there was a crocodile hiding in the swamp. Her precaution, though understandable, appeared redundant as every square inch below the neck was covered. He could not even steal glimpses of pale skin when she stretched with how long her shirt was.

"And you, Chére, are a terrible teacher," he replied as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, discretely maneuvering them to the less crowded side of the walk, near the low brick wall and bike racks. "I am at your mercy when it comes to American society norms these days." With a jaunty hop, he landed on the rack, toeing his way down the narrow pole. "In my day, wouldn't have though twice about payin' the bill for you."

"That so?" A delicate snort sounded from around his kneecaps as he felt her wary eyes on him. "Guess it's a good thing we ain't _in_ your time no more."

"Why's that?" He needed to push her buttons, to see how narrow a path he had to walk around her, to hide the truth behind teasing words. "Why'd it be so bad if I wanted to buy a foxy lady dinner?"

He nearly tripped as she broke his line of sight by jerking to a stop with a glare he could feel to his core. "Did you just call me what I think you called me? And get down from there before you break your neck."

"I am quite cozy where I am, thanks." Remy spun on the ball of one foot until he faced her again. "And if you mean did I call a foxy lady a foxy lady, then yes. Yes I did." With a neat skip backward, he fixed gleaming eyes and an evil smirk on her. "Foxy Lady."

The danger he was in was almost palpable as her glare intensified with the promise of a slow and painful death. Adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream. "Don't think you'd survive calling me that on even ground."

He was apparently a suicidal moron and she was just too fun to tease. With a step, he landed inches from her, expression never changing. "Foxy. Lady."

They stood, toe to toe, for an untold period of time, her glare against his smirk. He wondered if his life would flash before his eyes or if he would spend his last moments memorizing her angry face.

Rogue broke the stare first as her eyes flickered to the bike rack. Then her expression morphed to match his own with a hint of wicked fire thrown in as she brushed by him. "Thanks, Sugar. That's all I wanted."

Confused, he turned to watch her hips sway in victory. Then his eyebrows shot up as he looked at the bike racks, and his sudden departure from them. "You...are very good at that."

The hair on the back of his neck twitched. Pivoting, he darted his eyes over the crowd before spotting a large mural with several faces on it. Each one seemed to stare directly at him as the sensation of being watched crept through his bones.

"You okay, there?"

"Yeah, that's a damn creepy painting." Even when Remy turned to catch up, he could still feel the eyes on his back. With a shudder, he tugged her into a nearby store, hoping to escape the slimy sensation.

Remy came face to face with a feminine mannequin sporting a pair of leather pants. To his delight, they found themselves in a small leather shop. Streamline dusters, bulky blazers, slick and shiny wallets, and a wide assortment of leather clothing that he had not even been aware could be worn hung on racks and lined in neat displays. At the end of his brief scan of the store, his eyes inevitably came to rest appreciatively on that nice pair of leather pants.

"What are you doing?" Rogue snagged his sleeve with a sharp tug.

"Lost in a very pleasant memory," he replied with a sly wink, pointedly ignoring she meant dragging them into the small store. He jerked his head toward the pants. "Brings back nice memories of our first meeting, yeah? Though yours fit much more..."

As he held out his hands and squinted his eye to try to picture the outfit in question, he received a sharp slap to his shoulder. "Stop picturing me in leather, you lech."

"You want people to stop picturin' that, may wanna bring up to Stormy a change in costume design. May take awhile, but I'm sure you'll find something I won't have lecherous thoughts about." As straight faced as he could muster, he continued. "Spandex. Green. Maybe some yellow. That would do nothin' for me, especially if you threw in that duster right there."

With a brief flick of her eyes toward the coat in question - long, sleek, black, and would unlikely give all who looked at her in it a coronary - Rogue stared at him, leveling a look that froze certain blood cells in his veins. With a slight wince, Remy turned toward the register to greet the cashier. The young girl too was busy glowering at a scraggly old cat to pay much attention. Beside the register was a small wicker basket full of various bits of leather, each one baring indentations that he would bet matched the feline's dental work.

"Seventy-five percent off, the lot of them," the girl mumbled.

Raising an eyebrow, Remy sifted through a pile that was mostly just scraps. At the bottom, he discovered a pair of gloves. One was in perfect condition, the soft black leather light and flexible beneath his fingertips. Its mate had not been so lucky in meeting its destiny with two of the fingers and the thumb above the knuckles badly mangled. Why the beast decided to spare the middle and ring finger of this glove was unknown, though he suspected that perhaps the cashier had managed to catch him before he finished his snack.

"Your cat doesn't seem to realize this is a business, yeah?"

"He ain't _my_ cat," the girl retorted with a slight petulant pout. "He's the owner's, and he keeps gnawing his way through our inventory."

Nodding, he set the mangled glove and its counterpart on the counter. "I'd like these."

Shrugging, the girl rung him up. As she reached for a bag, he just waved it off. "Got a pair of scissors and a lighter?"

A short time passed before he handed the tools back to the cashier. Rogue had already made her purchase of her own gloves as she dragged the oversized bag behind her, following him through the door.

"What you do, buy them out of size delicate?" he questioned as he tugged his new possessions over his wrist. The free fingers would make working easy while the material there gave enough warmth for the cold days that were soon to come.

"Hardly." Her snort was anything but delicate. "Sometimes a gal's gotta splurge on something other than the necessities."

Another benefit of his gloves was the freedom that allowed him to do what he did next. With his bare fingers curled at careful angles, he brushed an errant strand of white behind her ear. Her responding look, a mix of frightened deer and angry bear, was not enough to dampen the peculiar zing through his chest. They continued down the sidewalk as though nothing happened, the moment passing as the painting of a thousand faces followed their descent.

_-end Chapter Nine_


	10. Mental as Anything

**Mental as Anything**

I stink at fight scenes. I think that's partly why this took so long to write, because I just don't write them well. So, you get this. Oops. Okay, and the comics made me mad. Like woah. There may have been table throwing involved. (I haven't picked up a comic in over a year.)

So um...heh...hi, all. Sassy got me again. She made no threats of Gambit removal this time. (Actually, it was more a gentle nudge. And where I expected shunning, she was like 'OHAI!' Seriously, the girl deserves a medal for putting up with my ADD ass.

I had to reread this. The early chapters were hard. So many commas...my brain...

Anyhoo, stuff actually happens this chapter. Hopefully we're progressing toward actual Plot now.

Disclaimer: If I owned this, I would be out of a job due to my inability to keep deadlines. Also, no dumpsters were harmed in the making of this fic. Also, the title to this chapter isn't mine. I was stuck, so I borrowed the title from a _Farscape_ episode.

PS Rereading through, my eye kept twitching whenever I read the name Peter. I have NO clue why I started using it. I apologize for this, and have switched to his actual name. You know. Piotr.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

While the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, mathematicians never really planned that fact for every day use. Hank had been stopped numerous times on his way to the kitchen from the elevator, which by all accounts _was_ a straight line, and could have easily made it there by now had he crawled through the window and scaled over the roof.

Sometimes, maintaining one's dignity was quite the bothersome venture.

His latest obstacle came in the form of a young girl adorned in pigtails and pink. Her chosen companion, a tattered stuffed platypus that had seen more love than most children on the premises, dangled from her hand by strands of thread and stuffing.

"Good evening, Amelia. I may be mistaken in the matter, but I do believe that this is your designated nap time," he said.

Her eyes were deceptively large. It was a common trait for children her ages, and Hank theorized it was due to a couple millenia of genetic evolution to give adolescents the appearance of naive innocence. In a word, even with her lower lip trembling, the child looked "cute."

"I had a bad dream," Amelia said. She pulled her platypus tight, tucking her chin against what remained of the matted fur, never once moving her eyes from him.

Nightmares, something that perhaps all of them shared. Still, it was unusual that one so young be affected by the horrors many of them faced on a daily basis. Granted, a child's mind knew more than many adults believed.

"What was it about?" he asked as he knelt in front of her.

"Dr. Doof had Perry in a trap," Amelia said as she held up her platypus. "And he couldn't get out."

"Ah, the perilous plight of your semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal of action," Hank said as he bit bag a smile. He had not seen much of the show, most of it in passing. However, to his chagrin, the theme song of the world's most bizarre mammalian secret agent would weave it's way through the strings of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor. A most troublesome occurrence when trying to focus on work. "However, it is clear to me that he is in fine fighting shape. Although I am not one to argue the extremities a dream can take our mind to."

She only stared up at him. Hank sighed and picked her up. "Why, sometimes if I partake in a banana or twelve before my own bedtime, I have the utmost aberrant dreams."

"Really?" she asked.

"Oh yes. The one that comes to memory is a terrible one. It involved my staring at at the equipment in my laboratory with no idea how any of it worked."

"That's scary?" Amelia asked.

"Oh yes, very," Hank said. "After all, what use is a scientist if he has no idea what it is that he does?"

He entered the room she shared with two other little girls, both deep asleep. From the way she was breathing and her head resting against his shoulder, Hank could tell that Amelia was either asleep or very close to it. Her hand absently petted his furred shoulder. She heaved a great sigh and mumbled something about kitties, and he knew she was gone from the waking world.

As gently as he could, he laid her on the bed and tucked the covers up just below her chin. She shifted fitfully until he placed her platypus securely in her arms.

"Sleep well," he said in a quiet voice. "For 'nothing happens unless first a dream.'"

Finally, he was somehow able to make it to the kitchen. He was not out of tea just yet, however the nature of his work called for something stronger. He resisted it when he could, though even he could not deny the pleasure that came at times in the form of coffee.

To his delight, Ms. Pryde was already in the kitchen, huddled at the end of the table with the young Mr. Rasputin. Their voices were quiet though Hank could tell their discussion most likely involved the young artist's current curriculum. Furthering his pleasure, Hank noted that the carafe held the precious substance his sleep deprived brain longed for.

As he poured a mug, forgoing any additional flavorings, he studied the pair. So rapt were they that they hardly seemed to notice his presence. "'Let us study things that are no more. It is necessary to understand them, if only to avoid them.' Victor Hugo, _Les Misérables._"

The pair jerked in their seats, more noticeable in the young Ms. Pryde. "Dr. McCoy, we didn't hear you come in."

"As I observed," Hank said, hiding his amusement behind the rim of his mug. "I would have kept my silence, however I was actually on my way to see you after leaving here."

Kitty perked up. "Did the decryption finish?"

Setting his mug on the table, Hank traced his claw over the swirl in the faux wooden design. "Yes. However, it is the contents of the files that urged me to seek you out and ask if perhaps we could not find someone else to sort through them."

Her eyes became void of emotion as she stared at him. "Are you saying it's beyond me?"

Hank sighed. He knew he was on a precarious precipice at this point. He chose his words carefully. "Of course not. I am fully aware of your abilities and have the utmost faith that you would be able to perform this task with little to no error on your part."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Then why would you suggest someone else do this? It's my baby, Hank."

He could not deny her statement. Kitty had been the one to catch the errant data in the facility, and only her lower rank on the seniority totem pole had prevented her from going on the mission.

"From what I could extrapolate from a cursory glance of the information gathered, the data contains that which could settle in an unsavory fashion on your young shoulders."

"Dr. McCoy, are you trying to protect me?" Kitty asked. "I appreciate it, I do. But if I always run from something that could be scary, when would I learn anything? And we all know that I am the only one here, aside from perhaps yourself, who has even a hope of understanding a fraction of what is in those files."

He mentally mapped the course of this argument, eying it as he would the most likely course of a chess game. Going in, he knew it would be nearly pointless, but now he could only see one or two scenarios where she would concede his point, and even those invariably ended with her working on the data anyway.

"I concede your point," he said at last. Then he held up a finger. "However, should you feel any form of discomfort in this, I do request that you seek assistance."

Ms. Pryde's lips quirked up in a corner as she clasped her companion on the shoulder. "In that case, I volunteer Petey here to assist me."

Mr. Rasputin, who had been up until that point studying a passage in his text, looked up. "Huh?"

Despite his better judgment, Hank found himself smiling in return. He just hoped that this would not be one instance that he regretted for years to come.

xxxxx

Their feet slapped against the dry cement.

Remy glanced behind them, maintaining a vigil on their surroundings as they tried to out maneuver their pursuers. "Never a dull moment, eh?"

Rogue kept pace with him, stride for stride, even managing to keep up with his quick turns and sharp detours. Only once had she faltered, and the swift way she corrected her faltering steps impressed him.

"Keeps me on my toes," she agreed as her breathes came in short pants.

It had happened suddenly. One minute they were laughing at something stupid just outside their hotel after dropping off a couple armloads of bags. The next, his senses burst at the sensation of being observed, followed quickly by the descent of unknown pursuers. He only had to say a small sentence to Rogue before they both took off.

Now, he could catch a glimpse of human shapes hurtling toward them. No matter how many turns they took or how many times they made a false change in direction, they could not shake those behind them.

Though he did not know them personally, he had a good idea as to who sent them. He turned to watch Rogue, her determined to not only keep up with him but to also reach the end of the next alley and preferably be free, and knew that there was one outcome of this trek that he would prefer.

Okay, the only plausible outcome he would prefer.

"Think it be best if we split up," he said between pants.

Her answering bark of laughter resigned him to the fact that it would not be so easy. "Strength in numbers, Swamp Rat."

He knew from varying differences in size and shape and breathing patterns that at least five figures were following them. Perhaps more. He also knew that he was their likely target. Rogue, despite her belonging to an organization that should be known to most would be of little interest to whoever it was that were chasing them.

And he would be damned if she got hurt because of someone's interest in him.

An intersection was fast approaching. If he were going to do this, it would be then. He would lose her in the confusion and hopefully meet up with her at the end of it. Worse case scenario, he'd be seeing her the next time he broke out of prison. Or wherever he wound up.

Normally, one card would be more than enough. He had grabbed a couple packs in the casino's gift shop, feeling bereft without the familiar cards on his person. Now, however, he had no time to sift through them one by one, let alone open the package.

Pulling out a pack, he shifted it in his hand as the familiar surge coursed through his fingers. He hoped his stasis had not affected his ability to charge objects just so.

The intersection came. Before he could throw the package, two words escaped without his conscious thought. "Sorry, Chére."

The last he saw of her was the confusion in her eyes before he threw the pack between them and he escaped in the resulting explosion.

Up a fire escape and across two rooftops, he was certain he had lost her. However, he could still sense the presence of his pursuers. Or at least three of them. That left two for Rogue. Not the odds for her he had hoped for, but better than nothing.

Waiting until he was sure they were on his trail again, he dropped to the alley below. A loose pipe dangled from rusted bolts on the wall. Not exactly his weapon of choice but it would do in a pinch.

With a sharp tug, the pipe came free with a groan and a crash. He gave an experimental twirl. While it lacked the length he desired, it would suit his needs.

xxxxx

Michaels knew his duty. There was a certain order of procedure he was to follow in instances such as this. However, as his finger hovered over the dial pad, he realized that this was no ordinary report. He did not know who he could trust.

Morgan had fallen asleep on his bed. Her own room was adjoined to his, and her being there this late also was not within normal parameters. However, she still suffered night terrors from their stint over seas, and he knew that a familiar presence was what usually calmed her. She had few friends in the unit, most of her colleagues having been promoted to Sergeant and beyond years ago, so when he could he allowed these moments of hers. Besides, he did not have the heart to wake her. If nothing else, he would just sleep in her room that night.

With a sigh, he clutched the phone in one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. He had known, going into the military, that he would face things he would never dream as a civilian. But this? This went beyond a pledge and a signed piece of paper. Still, it was his duty. Squaring his shoulders, he dialed the number to his Commanding Officer.

She answered on the second ring, distracted and for some reason still in office. "Colonel Jones."

"Ma'am, it's Sergeant Michaels."

"Sergeant," she said in that tone that he knew meant she was filling out paperwork. "Anything to report?"

Michaels filled his lungs. Then, in as steady a voice as he could muster, filled his Commanding Officer in. He told her of the outdated technology they found. He described the mess the building was in. And then, at the last, and with careful wording, described what they wished they had never seen.

He could feel her pen hovering over a page as the silence laid thick between them. "And Morgan? What had she seen?"

There was an edge in her voice that made Michaels glad he had chosen his words carefully. "Nothing. She was in the next room. I told her there was nothing important in there."

"And she let it go?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Growing up, he had always felt an extra sense in him mingled with a protectiveness over his friends. For some reason, he felt it was important to call on it now and hide Morgan's involvement.

"You always did have a way with that girl," Colonel Jones remarked. Her voice shifted, and though there was an edge to it now, she was trying to affect an aura of normalcy.

Still he bristled. No one, even those who worked alongside her in those early days when she was still fresh and new, gave the Specialist any credit. "Ma'am."

"You requested her for this detail. May I ask why?"

He gritted his teeth. "I've worked with her in the past. She always works well with me. Ma'am."

"Very well, Michaels. You are not to tell her what you found in there. And you're to forget about it. I will deal with this."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Their connected terminated on her end as he suspected it would. He replaced the receiver on the cradle and looked down at Morgan. There was no indication of a nightmare on her face.

In another life, they could have been friends. They were, to a degree. More so. He'd trust her with his life. Still, there were some luxuries that their lives as military personnel just could not allow them.

Sighing again, he pulled the blanket higher over her and entered her own room. It was the inverse of his own, yet he had slept in so many different places that it did not phase him.

Still, as he laid on the stiff mattress, it took him longer than normal to fall asleep. His dreams were not pleasant.

xxxxx

The men had been trained well, their movements reeking of countless government dollars hard at work. They were a unit, a team, moving as one. Rogue, though mildly concerned, felt very little actual fear. After all, she had the one form of training that neither of these men had the advantage of utilizing.

She had been taught to fight by Logan.

They cornered her in an alley with no exits easily accessible.

As one, the small team lunged, wolves after a prey. What they had yet to realize was that Rogue was not defenseless, but in sheep's clothing herself.

There were two of them. It was likely they had trained together over the years until two became the fluidity of one. They were larger than her, knuckled cracking as fingers flexed. Still, she had faced far worse in the Danger Room simulations.

Squaring her shoulders, she stood with her back to the dead end and faced down her enemies as Logan had taught her. She observed and gathered all data she could. This one favored his left leg while the other listed to the right. Nothing escaped her notice.

As they moved in, she wondered if she had any residual powers to call on. Her last Danger Room session had been ages ago, and the last person she had absorbed had been Remy. His powers were gone from her. Still, she felt his cocksure attitude and drew on that strength.

"Two of you against little ol' me?" she asked. "I'm rightly touched."

Her taunt was met by a calm silence just before they attacked. She blocked their blows and deflected punches, returning them with force. Still, as they converged down on her, something tickled in the back of her brain.

The next time they ran a simulation in the Danger Room, she would be sure to include scenarios where the aggressors attacked at once.

A sharp knee impacted her side as a meaty fist connected with her jaw. As stars flooded her vision, she realized that perhaps she was not as prepared as she had believed.

xxxxx

Brief flash of Gambit's fight

There was a distance between them. Remy noted the obvious respect they had for his ability, but wondered if they realized that he was better suited for distance attacks.

Beefy stood a couple feet behind his comrades. Big Nose had a nasty grin that would put an inmate to shame, whereas Stick gazed at him with a stoic face. Despite being the smallest, Remy knew he would have to give this last man more space than the others. There was an aura about him that spoke of an underlying strength.

"Now, what can I do for you?" he asked, twirling his pipe idly in one hand. "Surely not directions. I'm a tourist."

"You know why we're here, Mr. LeBeau," Stick said. His voice was cold and even. "Though I doubt you'll agree to it, I give you this opportunity to surrender."

Remy shrugged. "Sorry, boys. Made a promise to m'self. I ain't goin' back."

Stick shrugged. On that cue, Big Nose and Beefy came at him. They were fast for humans, but to Remy's eye they were slow and lumbering.

The pipe was awkward in his hand. A little thicker than he was used to, slightly lighter and definitely more hollow. Still, it made a satisfying sound as it crunched against Beefy's arm. The big man grunted in pain, and though he had to have a fracture at the very least, kept his advance.

"Been eatin' your Wheeties, eh?" Remy said. He slid a fresh pack of cards from his pocket and flicked the plastic sheets at his foes. They stepped back, but when no explosion greeted them, they continued forward. Remy grinned as he charged his next couple. They weren't enough to kill or even seriously injure but they had bite.

xxxxx

Rogue's lungs burned with every breath. If she had no cracked ribs after this she would be surprised.

Her opponents were not unscathed. She fought hard, but they did not fight fair.

Her mind was enveloped in a thick haze. Her temples throbbed as blood screamed in her ears.

Still she kept on. She would fight until she won, or blacked out, or at the rate this was going, both.

_My turn._

Rogue sharply shook her head. This was no time for someone elses memories to come to the surface.

_Sit down little girl before you get us both killed._

A swift kick to the gut sent her flying. She crashed into a dumpster and the metal screeched in protest.

"What do you want?" Rogue asked. She ignored the responses made by her attackers as the voice grew strength in her mind.

_My life._

xxxxx

Fighting was like dancing. His partners would lead, and he would follow. Their attacks were met by his deflection. His advance was met by their retreat. It was a long waltz and adrenaline still coursed through his veins when his opponents staggered back in exhaustion.

"Doubt you'll agree, but what say you surrender," Remy said. Stick growled up at him, his cold eyes blazing. "Take that as a no."

It was not long before he was leaving the alley, his enemies trussed tight to the ladder of a fire escape.

Without glancing back, he slithered through alleys and scaled roof tops. There was a feel in the air to his left, and he sensed that would be where he would find Rogue.

xxxxx

"This could wait," Piotr said.

Kitty swallowed when she allowed herself to look away from the screen. "Not for long."

"It has been years already. A few more days will not hurt."

"That's just it," she snapped. "This has been going on for _years_ and no one knows about it. If we just sit around and do nothing, then what good are we?"

"There was no suggestion of doing nothing," Piotr said. "Only a break. Then we will look at it a different way."

Finally Kitty nodded. Standing, she stretched out the kinks that had worked their way deep into her muscles. It was an odd pairing for this assignment, her and Piotr. She had expected him to bail early in the work but he had stayed by her. While his area of expertise generally did not involve computers, he would sometimes point out something that she overlooked. As an artist, he saw patterns and pictures where all she saw was data.

"I suppose I will allow us a moment to eat," she said with a grin. After what she read, the idea of anything resembling food made her nauseous. However, she knew that without, her reserves would deplete and she would be as useful as an uncharged laptop in a power outage.

She found some salad behind the ham. It was left over from the previous night. Though not exactly high cuisine, she figured her lack of appetite did not call for something that would normally taste good.

Piotr was quiet as they prepared their plates of food. She knew, even before he spoke, what he would say. "Have you given thought to Dr. McCoy's suggestion?"

"No," she snapped. Then she sighed. "I'll get through it."

"I know."

"Then why bring it up?"

"Just because you can does not mean you have to."

For awhile, there was silence between them as they ate. Well, he ate. She mostly picked through her lettuce with her fork. "I just don't know what to do with it."

"With what?"

"Any of it. All of it." Kitty flung her fork down and leaned back in her chair, hands running through her hair. "I mean, how am I supposed to present this information? All of it? Some of it? A list of highlights, ranging from gross atrocities to only-sort-of-evil?"

He chewed. Then swallowed. Then only answered when he was certain she was done talking. "I think it all needs to be known. The way of presentation will show itself."

He was so infuriating. How could he be so calm? "Aren't you the one who wanted me to stop doing this?"

"I did not say that," he said. He shrugged as he looked at her. "You will do this and I will help."

She wanted to be mad at him but it was hard to argue with someone who refused to rise to the bait. So instead, she felt a warm glow. "I like this 'we' thing you seem to have going on here."

When he grinned, she was glad she did not swoon. "So do I."

xxxxx

The physical fight was over before Rogue could blink. Her assailants laid in a crumpled heap where they were thrown.

However, the battle in her mind was still raging.

_Pathetic. Weak._ The voice was not her own, the scathing tone colored with the cold bitterness of an angry Yankee dialect.

"You're not supposed to be here," Rogue muttered, thick tongued and slow.

_Yet I am, little girl. And who's fault is that?_ Her voice was too loud, too angry, and the throbbing in Rogue's temple increased. _You stole everything from me. You made my parents mourn for yet another child!_

Images of a blonde boy, all smiles and good looks, fluttered with the bitter taste of remorse. Brief snippets of a life not hers pinged the synapses of her mind. Normally the woman was a silent predator, waiting for that one moment of weakness to strike. She had found her opportunity, and now Carol Danvers wanted to reclaim what was hers. Except Rogue had no idea how to return it.

_I was a soldier. I fought wars long before you giggled incessantly over boys and experimented with horrendous shades of lipstick._ The trouble with having someone inside her head was that Rogue was not the only one with access to memories. _All you did was let yourself be taken and took the coward's way out._

"I did it so _this_ wouldn't happen!" No matter how tight she squeezed her eyes shut, or how hard she clamped her hands over her ears, nothing could block the mental tirade.

_And you failed. You panicked when it came back, and because of that, look what happened._

A raw scream tore through her throat at the barrage Carol sent through her. Needing an outlet, a way to torture something – anything – along with her, fists pounded hard into the cracked concrete beneath her. Chips and sediment flew unnoticed around the young girl as the throbbing in her temple increased.

"Get out! Why now? Why _here?_ What do you want?"

_I want my life back!_

"_So do I!"_

A battle of two minds, neither willing to give up control, ensued in the dimly lit alley way. Rogue would have preferred the bliss of unconsciousness, Carol the freedom to stretch her limbs. Neither would budge.

Rogue threw herself against the brick wall. She felt it crack beneath her strength, something that was not her own but stolen in a moment of fear. She felt nothing as she lunged toward the other wall.

The pounding of heavy boots against solid ground barely registered in the minds of both women. "Chére? That you?"

The unexpected presence dropped her to her knees. Her arms could not tightly around herself to contain what was struggling free, and she snapped at Carol's lurid description of just what she could do to this pathetically underpowered mutant. Lips curled over her teeth as she tried to mentally shove Gambit away. "You leave him _alone._"

The snarl in her voice, laced with hate and venom, faltered the Cajun born man in his steps. He continued forward, though, with just enough caution that Carol barely regarded him as stupid. "Been lookin' for you." He looked at the still unconscious men. At least, Rogue hoped that's all they were.

"Remy. Go _away._ Now." Against her will, she had become to feel safe around him. Comfortable. With a bitter woman throwing herself through Rogue's synapses, that was a feeling she could not afford. "I'll catch up with you, just leave."

"Unwanted squatter on the premises?" He was far too close, far too complacent in the knowledge that she would not hurt him.

Rogue would not if she could help it. Carol, however, was another matter entirely. Faster than Rogue believe she was capable of, Carol snapped her hand forward.

Remy was faster. With a tilt of his body, he shifted to one side and caught the flying fist in a grip, using her momentum against her. Body twisting, her wrist was behind her back in a hold that would have been painful had Carol's powers not been in use.

Carol laughed with a mix of mirth and spite. "You think this can stop me? Look around you, silly boy. You can't stop me with your fancy little card tricks."

"This body ain't yours, _p'tite. _Maybe you should just give it back, yeah?" His two fingers covered in soft leather stroked faintly along her jugular.

"She _stole_ me! The same is going to happen to you. Or did you think your pretty little ass would become immune? I have news for you, _Sugar._ You stay around too long, you'll end up just like me."

His grip loosened, and that tiny movement hurt Rogue for reasons she would not look into. Then he was looking her in the eye, and Rogue knew he was not searching for Carol, but for her.

"_D__ésolé._" It was the only warning he gave her, and she did not even know it was that until his next move. She expected it to be an agreement with Carol's words, as though knowing that she would one day do to him what she had done to the woman fighting for control.

_I wouldn't_, she wanted to say, to offer him the reassurance that he was safe from her. Even if she had control, she would be unable to get those words out, because though she wanted to believe them she knew that one day she may slip.

Then his lips were on hers, harsh and hungry. It paled the other experiences she had which were always timid and unsure. It was not Carol who responded as the new persona washed through her in wisps of black and red. They pushed at the northerner, wrapping around her as they tried to pull her back and away to where she had been before.

Then she was shoved away, and the last thing she saw before blackness engulfed her was a glowing ace of spades. The shock of both the passionate contact and the violent explosion sent Carol reeling back far into Rogue's subconscious.

* * *

_I found this on my hard drive earlier today. Some bits were written already and most was laid out in a very coarse outline, but I had to write most of it. If any of it is inconsistent style wise, that's why._

_Also, speaking of _Farscape_, my fiance is suggesting I do an X-Men/Farscape crossover. Oh dear!_

_And speaking of. I will hopefully be continuing this. I've finished with school for the most part and need a distraction. My fiance lives in Australia, and I...do not._


End file.
